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Gypsy Quiet

Gypsy Quiet FICTION G ·s i uiet Lucy Flood I waited for a tornado to hurl me off the couch and out the door. I After living in my mother-in-law's mildewed basement for three years, my legs were heavy. Dulles's love had strangled me. Day after day imagined that the foundation of my marriage was like city soil, paved over so that nothing would ever grow. Although my mother-in-law had begged me to go to the healer, who she claimed was the only person in the whole valley that could cure my infertility, I'd refused. Dulles and I didn't know the precise scientific reason why we couldn't have kids, but it didn't surprise me that we weren't fertile. By marrying him when I was still in love with a man who had earned a B.S. in Botany, I had brought on my suffering. The sound of a male cricket singing for a female finally caused me to get up out of the dark. In the daylight, my eyes drank in the mountains that snuck up in all directions around Dirt Creek. When I spotted the cricket making music in the overgrown grass by rubbing one leg against its wing, lightness http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Appalachian Review University of North Carolina Press

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Publisher
University of North Carolina Press
Copyright
Copyright © Berea College
ISSN
1940-5081
Publisher site
See Article on Publisher Site

Abstract

FICTION G ·s i uiet Lucy Flood I waited for a tornado to hurl me off the couch and out the door. I After living in my mother-in-law's mildewed basement for three years, my legs were heavy. Dulles's love had strangled me. Day after day imagined that the foundation of my marriage was like city soil, paved over so that nothing would ever grow. Although my mother-in-law had begged me to go to the healer, who she claimed was the only person in the whole valley that could cure my infertility, I'd refused. Dulles and I didn't know the precise scientific reason why we couldn't have kids, but it didn't surprise me that we weren't fertile. By marrying him when I was still in love with a man who had earned a B.S. in Botany, I had brought on my suffering. The sound of a male cricket singing for a female finally caused me to get up out of the dark. In the daylight, my eyes drank in the mountains that snuck up in all directions around Dirt Creek. When I spotted the cricket making music in the overgrown grass by rubbing one leg against its wing, lightness

Journal

Appalachian ReviewUniversity of North Carolina Press

Published: Jan 8, 2005

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