backward until he fell flat on his back in the dirt, right beside mama. He held onto his wound and
his mouth was moving but no words came out. For thefirst time that night, he was quiet. Mama
was sobbing. Then she looked at me, saw the shotguntrembling in my chubby, 13-year-old arms,
still raised. She got up, wiped her bloody hands onher skirt. She kneeled in front of me and took
it out of my hands and held me. She was shaking andher mouth was moving but I couldn’t hear
over the roaring in my ears. All I could think aboutwas that she would get splinters, kneeling on
the porch like that.
I could not tell you this truth when I was leaving,but now you know it. I was in New
York to make money and build a career so that I couldtake her wherever she wanted to go when
she was released. I was going to go back to Virginiaand find a nice job in Richmond. I never
planned on staying, until you.
I want to come back to you, but I understand if youwon’t have me. I was, and still am,
afraid that you would feel as disgusted with me asI am with myself. I wish I could shed this
body so that the hands that roamed your body werenot the same hands that held that shotgun.
7 October 1969 Blackwell Hotel, 820 E. Sherman Ave,Coeur d’Alene, ID
Kate. Our first date was on March 29th. Spring hadjust started and warm breezes had
taken to the streets, lifting the skirt of my sundressever so slightly as I walked to Central Park.
We met atop the big slate rocks that face the NaturalHistory Museum. You told me not to bring
anything but myself but I had to bring banana-nutbread, my Nana’s recipe. She always told me
the way to a man’s heart is through the stomach. Youare not a man, thank god, but her theory
worked anyway I think. You sat on top of a blanket,shoulders back, legs stretched in front of you
and crossed at the ankle as if waiting for courtiersto feed you grapes. A king in a thrifted, brown