Squeal before the thud, the skid after-his decapitated body slipping the surly bonds of earth, sailing kitelike over a California highway, arcing over and beyond a thicket of treetops, to touch the face of God.
A decade later he would be thrown through the windshield of his sparkling green (red?) Edsel (Eldorado?)-the Palm of your hand and eternity in an hour-she swept back two years later without a word about her lover, the father of R.L., her oldest child. Drawn by the power of nostalgia- Hold infinity in the
It, pinstripe suit, diamond horseshoe tiepin, and two-toned patent-leather shoes. In step with the flowing sweep of her garments, an undercurrent of rhythm, she cut the final strings of attachment, her children,Īnd on a rich spring day cut a red path to New Mexico-what business had a nigger there New Mexicans had yet to invent the word-for a man eternally bound to a rakish fedora, his sweet face like a mask beneath Her blood leaped from the danger, drew back into the farthest reaches of her heart, and the roots of her soul pulled away from the sharpĮarth which had nurtured her. Long before Jesus entered the world, blades of southern grass sliced up the soles of his grandmother's feet.
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