“I don’t relish slaughter, but the man was most unreasonable. Stiff-necked and proud.”
Shame is a fire, burning my core. Her name was Rena Davis, and I was the one who gave her the name of “Old Black Pig.”
Theodosia has been indignant all her life, mostly because she’s named Theodosia. “Why couldn’t I have been named Cynthia Jane?” she asks me. “That was Grandma’s name… Read more “Theodosia, Indignant to the Bone”
“His death broke the cold snap.”
“Times were different,” I say finally. “People minded their business then.”
Blanche draws me by her very diffidence. She stands apart, looking unhappy and confused.
Lorraine’s childhood is marred by the alcoholism of her mother. However, she does have a few happy memories, and the sound of popping soap bubbles is one… Read more “Excerpt from Silver Bottle, a memory from Lorraine.”
A slyly sensual sound at a time when sex wasn’t talked about, except by married women on front porches in the summer twilight, or wildly exaggerated by teenage girls, also in whispers but with a throatiness, a raw edge which might cause the speaker to break off, red-faced, while the rest of us looked at our feet.
While my sister was forming in my mother’s belly, my cousin Beverly Anne was dying in her mother’s arms.
She lifted a pear shaped crystal from between her breasts.