Kimmo in the Pisgah

Kimmo in the Pisgah Sara Read Photo by Jay Bock F IC T IO N The man we called Great-Uncle Kimmy lived three-quarters of his life alone in a cabin perched on a mountainside so steep that if you stepped wrong in anger or in drink you’d wind up in the creek bed deep at the bottom of the holler. There lay the remains (he said) of a Model A Ford, a hundred-year-old still, and two commercial-grade highway lawn mowers. If you wound up down there, you’d never be found, but it wouldn’t matter because you’d be dead. No one and nothing (he said) ever went down into the bottom of that holler besides the things meant to by nature, and nothing not meant to go there by nature ever came out. e m Th an we called Great-Uncle Kimmy was also the dieff rence between what became of me and what became of Kate, forget what an- y body else says. In October, a month ae ft r I turned fie ft en, my grandmother dragged me by the shirt from the juvenile courthouse. I only ever called my grandmother “Grandmother,” and not because she was kindly and lavender-smelling. She was a http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png The Missouri Review University of Missouri

Kimmo in the Pisgah

The Missouri Review, Volume 41 (1) – Apr 10, 2018

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

Abstract

Sara Read Photo by Jay Bock F IC T IO N The man we called Great-Uncle Kimmy lived three-quarters of his life alone in a cabin perched on a mountainside so steep that if you stepped wrong in anger or in drink you’d wind up in the creek bed deep at the bottom of the holler. There lay the remains (he said) of a Model A Ford, a hundred-year-old still, and two commercial-grade highway lawn mowers. If you wound up down there, you’d never be found, but it wouldn’t matter because you’d be dead. No one and nothing (he said) ever went down into the bottom of that holler besides the things meant to by nature, and nothing not meant to go there by nature ever came out. e m Th an we called Great-Uncle Kimmy was also the dieff rence between what became of me and what became of Kate, forget what an- y body else says. In October, a month ae ft r I turned fie ft en, my grandmother dragged me by the shirt from the juvenile courthouse. I only ever called my grandmother “Grandmother,” and not because she was kindly and lavender-smelling. She was a

Journal

The Missouri ReviewUniversity of Missouri

Published: Apr 10, 2018

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