the relatives Tweet There they are kept in humidors smelling vaguely of lilac,the brown photographs of relatives whose names I’ve long forgotten;Letters from World War One that begin, “Somewhere in France, Dear Mother,”Faces like seed that germinate and within me reap their harvest. © 2017, John J Geddes. All rights reserved. Be Sociable, Share! Tweet This entry was posted in short stories. Bookmark the permalink.