Tupelo, Mississippi 1972 cara dorris
â€œDid he fuck you?â€? 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 didnâ€™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.
Clerestory Journal of the Arts