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Show Go Love/117 used to wash our cars with buckets filled with suds from Mama's dishwash soap. From cages way across the hard on the neighbor's side, the rabbits pink eyes all stare at us now, stone still "I keep feeling like Mama's with us right this second Like she hasn't gone anywhere." "Oh yes she has." Trace glares "I threw up in the morgue." Dougie sides up to Lara, wraps his arms around her and picks her clear off the ground. "Daddy," she screams. "Lara," Renee says. Traceleen says, "Goddamnit Dougie." Lara squeals, just throws her head back as if this is the happiest moment of her life, looks me in the face and says daddy?-a good question-and we're all just standing there I've mowed my way around this square of earth all those hot Sundays after meatloaf, watching the neighbor girl wash her yellow Pinto in cutoffs three houses up, the bikini straps loose on her white shoulders while the neighbor bathed his rabbits-cooing at them, saying things into their ears. Next door, Dora stares. She's always called Mama at three a.m. to tell a joke or dish dirt or go on about how lonely it was to be a woman. She was a thorn in O W.'s side. He called her a lesbian bitch, Mama said. Dora, vou lesbian bitch', he screamed out the window one morning at three a.m., her and Mama on the phone telling secrets. Lara says, "Looky, hinder." Sure enough, a purple squall moves overhead, the leading edge of an Oklahoma cold front come out of the blue. "Her casket's white," Trace says. "It's nice. Daddy left you a set of keys out on the electric box" "Casket," Lara says. At my side under a tornado sky, my daughter says casket, she tries the |
