Archaeology of Lost Women

This is a mammal paleontologist’s nightmare, the dreaded “harmonica,” or a jaw without teeth. Without teeth, it’s often impossible to determine precisely what the creature is.

INTERPRETIVE DISPLAY, MINNESOTA
SCIENCE MUSEUM, ST. PAUL

We know little about her, save her name. We know little about her, but she worked in a textile mill. We know little about her, but she washed sheets in a hospital, cared for her husband after his stroke, lived out her life in this place.

Even the women whose blood I share are unknown to me as the names in a county ledger. What am I supposed to do, not wonder about their lives, stick to my own story? No. I will scour histories and sift facts, read about soil content and average annual income. I follow their recipes (three years and I could afford meat only twice); I unfold their dress patterns (which material will last longest and show the least wear?). Too few of them could spare time to write journals or letters, and too many of those notes lie crumbling in a back room, shredded into mouse nests. Here I am showing you my sleights. Little bones. I tell it as I believe it could have been, how my own life has shown me. I’ll presume to speak for them. Fault me, try to shut your ears, and still I’ll say, as said the God of Zipporah and Hagar and Leah: Give me a rib and I’ll give you a woman.