In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

ANNIVERSARY Yesterday was the Tolliver's sixtieth wedding anniversary; they had a fancy to-do to celebrate. All the children, grandchildren and their children, plus friends going back a half century, filled the Methodist Church. Downstairs the Rebecca Women's Circle was finishing last minute touches—rose and baby's breath arrangements graced tables lined together, covered by white linen cloths with brocade edges, held a banquet of cakes, pies, ham, turkey, roast beef, every vegetable and fruit grown in local gardens, served in silver platters and crystal bowls loaned by women. None of this clamor was heard upstairs in the sanctuary where guests twisted in pews, giddy from amused exitement: it was Maud's idea, this "getting remarried"—it embarrassed Boss who thought married was married as you could get, while at the same time he basked in her glow. She stood tall robust, her bosom overwhelming the rest of her body; she wore pink paisley dress, trimmed in lattice lace, a corsage which she reminded Boss to give her pinned next to her puffy neck. His dark suit draped over his hunched back, bent by years of plowing and logging; his white shirt was starch-crisp in contrast to a delicate boutonnière in his wide lapel. They had written new vows, an idea Maud got from their granddaughter. (Maud laughed and said it was time she got her two bits in; Boss said he'd be more careful this time with what he promised.) The words made some of the women cry from their beauty, or their own anesthetized marriages. In spite of complaining, Boss listened to the preacher and then Maud, intently, and it was he who at the end, wiped away a tear, taking a new handkerchief from his pocket to blow his nose. My mother leaned over to me and whispered, Wasn't it lovely and she wanted a copy; at the same time Dad leaned over to me and whispered, If he had to marry that Maud Tolliver again, after sixty years of her nagging he'd cry too. The preacher then pronounced them husband and wife, which made Boss grin and twitch, and when the preacher told Boss to kiss his bride, he said, Why, I kissed her this mornin'! —Carole Murphy 74 SEASONS Autumnal breech birth in a mountain town landing feet first at the apex forever on abortive journeys over and over I parachute between the mountains to the valleys absconding just long enough to wrangle death and remind remind that all I need is to stay planted and grow in my time like winter wheat like winter wheat —Carole Murphy íiSt^í I «JE 75 SOJOURNER Like some driven bird I migrate south then north with the turnings. An infidel, I walk a Connecticut shore, trampling the low life mussels into the mud, water sloshing over my feet; sea air burns skin winter-paled; salted breaths intoxicate me, as echoes from clanging buoys charge the dizziness. In this vertigo I smile at a lighthouse and think of Kentucky. —Carole Murphy ...

pdf

Share