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Show Go Love/194 pictures, gone down to the camera store and bought one of those special rags and those white gloves they use to handle delicate film. He'd seen Mama's lover with that look on his face-kicked back on the hotel bed in bikini underwear. The letters, sentence after sentence. And covering all the carefully cleaned photographs in Mama's briefcase, my own prints now, carefully set down in bedroom's one clear spot, under the night table where a peanut butter and jelly sandwich rotted. How long has he held this in his heart? I piss beside my father at the Baptist Church urinal. "What do you think?" I ask. O.W. shakes his head, smiles a sheepish smile-the moment we've rocketed toward our whole lives. "I knew this would happen." "What?" The sentence, him shaking his head side to side, the sheepish smile "That I'd have to pee before driving out to that blasted cemetery. And stand here and not be able to." In the shock of looking backwards, the fall is hardest, when cool air comes down from Canada and Mama'd call me and say she was remembering the autumn when I burst through the mouth of the paper jackrabbit, then ran for 275 yards against the Bauxite Pirates. She'd call in fall, when the air got brisk-and in her voice I'd hear the language of my heart |