...a hunger for playing fierce piano

...old as ancient Indian bones...

...mean as a rattler...

...where the wind takes a rest sometimes.

She's an old mule...

...slow stirring of biscuits...

Permission to play at the Palace

Right hand playing notes sharp as tongues...

...smooth buttery rhythms...

...playing hot piano, sizzling with Mad Dog...

"The potatoes are peppered plenty tonight, Polly..."

...of wind and sun

of wind and clouds

of wind and sand

of wind and dust...

...I glare at Ma's back with a scowl foul as maggoty stew.

The night sky kept flashing, lightning danced down on its spindly legs.

...or blow away, like bits of cast-off rags.

It wasn't until the dust turned toward the house, like a fired locomotive...

...the dust hissed against the windows...

I look at Joe and know our future is drying up

and blowing away with the dust.

...her anger,

simmering over like a pot in an empty kitchen...

...a blizzard of sweet-smelling flowers

...so tart,

would turn my mouth inside out...

...or find my farm chores falling down...