Moon Over Mountain

Moon Over Mountain MOON OVER MOUNTAIN/A/z'sa Slaughter I. Red Cedar, Alfalfa Hay her coat. Rich women wore fur coats, she knew. She didn't know what The blanket Ina lay on was wool, a scratchy, yellow-gold cloth like potatoes, rough mashed with extra water, a family favorite. There was rich people's blankets were made of. Ina took a few minutes a day to stretch out and rest. Dinner would be easy, canned salmon and soupy no need to get up just yet. Outside, her youngest children had spent the afternoon throwing rocks at a telephone pole and drawing in the dirt by the back door, staying closer than usual, watching the road. Eddie's voice came through the window, clear and deliberate. He was explaining to his sisters how their niece's funeral would go. "They gonta put Dar in a box, big as a cow trough." "It gots a lid, though," Myrtle answered placidly. "Lids can't keep out worms, stupid." "Buster said nothin's gonta eat her 'cause she's pickled." Myrtle's voice was assured, the only sound at that moment in the afternoon circle of green all around and dust bouncing in the angled light. Night was far off; when it came, it would http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png The Missouri Review University of Missouri

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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

MOON OVER MOUNTAIN/A/z'sa Slaughter I. Red Cedar, Alfalfa Hay her coat. Rich women wore fur coats, she knew. She didn't know what The blanket Ina lay on was wool, a scratchy, yellow-gold cloth like potatoes, rough mashed with extra water, a family favorite. There was rich people's blankets were made of. Ina took a few minutes a day to stretch out and rest. Dinner would be easy, canned salmon and soupy no need to get up just yet. Outside, her youngest children had spent the afternoon throwing rocks at a telephone pole and drawing in the dirt by the back door, staying closer than usual, watching the road. Eddie's voice came through the window, clear and deliberate. He was explaining to his sisters how their niece's funeral would go. "They gonta put Dar in a box, big as a cow trough." "It gots a lid, though," Myrtle answered placidly. "Lids can't keep out worms, stupid." "Buster said nothin's gonta eat her 'cause she's pickled." Myrtle's voice was assured, the only sound at that moment in the afternoon circle of green all around and dust bouncing in the angled light. Night was far off; when it came, it would

Journal

The Missouri ReviewUniversity of Missouri

Published: Oct 5, 2001

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