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Tupelo, Mississippi 1972 cara dorris

“Did he fuck you?� she asks. Marianne sits on the edge of the coffee table, legs crossed, cigarette swinging side to side like bait. The smoke smells sweet. I like the smell. Back then I didn’t know the difference between getting fucked and having sex. All I knew was that one morning I lay with a boy in the grass of a rusty field. A week later, I passed the same field where an old man with crossed eyes dragged a wagon and picked corn and sometimes blackberries from the burnt yellow fade. He yelled hello as I passed and spoke with his tongue in his teeth.

Issue 45 Fall 2011  

Clerestory Journal of the Arts

Issue 45 Fall 2011  

Clerestory Journal of the Arts

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