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Bury Me

Bury Me Allegra Hyde fiction Beware the pine-tree's withered branch! Beware the awful avalanche! --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow It was the strangest funeral I'd ever attended. Sun-soaked-- on the old farm field behind Sally's house--the bereaved dressed in a rainbow of colors, the air sugared with cotton candy and the pangs of a string quartet. A downy white pony for children to ride. Sally saw me and came sailing across the lawn, a loose yellow dress lashed to her body. "My mother's," she said, hiking the dress past her knees, as if she were a little girl crossing a mud puddle. "I'm so glad you're here." She gave me a wet, splintering smile. "I almost thought you weren't coming." "Sal--" But already she was gone, engulfed by relatives, all of them echoes of her: lithe Nordic bodies, white-blond hair, long noses. Polished people who looked like they'd be cold to touch. I had not wanted to come. It had been three months since I'd so much as grabbed coffee with Sally, and in those months I'd finally felt able to think straight. "It's my work," I'd told her, in the phone calls I answered. "I'm unbelievably busy." I said this despite http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png The Missouri Review University of Missouri

Bury Me

The Missouri Review , Volume 37 (3) – Oct 9, 2014

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Publisher
University of Missouri
Copyright
Copyright © The Curators of the University of Missouri.
ISSN
1548-9930
Publisher site
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Abstract

Allegra Hyde fiction Beware the pine-tree's withered branch! Beware the awful avalanche! --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow It was the strangest funeral I'd ever attended. Sun-soaked-- on the old farm field behind Sally's house--the bereaved dressed in a rainbow of colors, the air sugared with cotton candy and the pangs of a string quartet. A downy white pony for children to ride. Sally saw me and came sailing across the lawn, a loose yellow dress lashed to her body. "My mother's," she said, hiking the dress past her knees, as if she were a little girl crossing a mud puddle. "I'm so glad you're here." She gave me a wet, splintering smile. "I almost thought you weren't coming." "Sal--" But already she was gone, engulfed by relatives, all of them echoes of her: lithe Nordic bodies, white-blond hair, long noses. Polished people who looked like they'd be cold to touch. I had not wanted to come. It had been three months since I'd so much as grabbed coffee with Sally, and in those months I'd finally felt able to think straight. "It's my work," I'd told her, in the phone calls I answered. "I'm unbelievably busy." I said this despite

Journal

The Missouri ReviewUniversity of Missouri

Published: Oct 9, 2014

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