Excerpts from Worthy Evans’ Green Revolver

Green Revolver

Four weeks ago Matthew moved
some bones from the back yard
to the front yard. Three weeks ago he
helped his mom around the house,
picking up laundry, throwing loose paper
away. She gave him two dollars.
Two weeks ago I took him
to a dollar store. Matthew walked back
to the wall of dime toys and found
a green revolver, little gray blackjack
and gold handcuffs, shrink-wrapped against
an upbeat cardboard law-enforcement sign.
One week ago he climbed into the truck
with his revolver that he constantly
clicked. He left it there when I pushed him
out for school, and it sits here right now,
on the seat. Every person talking about work
on the walking trail, every mocking bird,
every passing car, click, click, click.

By Worthy Evans
Excerpted from the book, Green Revolver, University of South Carolina Press, 2010.

 

The Madman’s Divining Time

After the rain, we walked out onto
the patio. The air was still wet and the
bark of the fat pine tree was streaked
with hits and misses. I’ve never seen
our backyard so green and liquid.
Mona checked her plants to see if the
passing shower gave them anything
at all. She worked her thumbs into the
pots of petunias, pansies, marigolds
whatever they were, a wild palate of color
mixed and matched by a madman.
“He has a plan for us,” Mona said.
“With each shower he carves us up
into little pieces and shows us colors we
never knew we were.” I looked down at the
thin puddle on the porch. In the twilight
I was a muddle of ruddy bumps and
sandy dribbles of gray hair.
Mona, of course, showed herself in blues and
oranges, ochre, velvety red, peach
jasmine and touches of deep purple
where the setting sun steals the other colors
away. Maybe, if I worked the dirt up
under my fingernails, there
would be hope for me. Mona had
already left the deck and soared off into the
leftover sunshine to dance with that fiend.
By Worthy Evans
Excerpted from the book, Green Revolver, University of South Carolina Press, 2010.

 

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