Last thing I remember was me and the boys cresting the hill and spying them damn Northern aggressors hiding in a mess of pawpaws. After that was a dark time when all I heard sounded like wind rustling through a stand of dead cotton husks along with that heavy smell of lilacs. Then nothing. And now I’m here. At home. ‘Cept my family ain’t living here no more. Alls I see is a hard collection of strangers. Why they’re here, what’s become of my family is a constant source of irritation. I yell loud enough. Seems like no one can hear me.

(Sculpture: Tim Duch)