Sing, Unburied, Sing
Copyright 2018, Scribner
Fiction
“‘Home aint always about a place. The house I grew up in is gone. Ain’t nothing but a field and some woods, but even if the house was still there, it ain’t about that.’ Richie rubs his knuckles together. ‘I don’t know.’
I raise my right eyebrow at him. Mam can do it, and I can do it. Pop and Leonie can’t.
‘Home is about the earth. Whether the earth open up to you. Whether it pull you so close the space between you and it melt and y’all one and it beats like your heart. Same time. Where my family lived… it’s a wall. It’s a hard floor, wood. Then concrete. No opening. No heartbeat. No air.’
‘So what?’ I whisper.
Michael starts the car and pulls out of the narrow gravel parking lot beside the gas station. Wind kneads my scalp.
‘This is my way to find that.’
‘Find what?’
‘A song. The place is the song and I’m going to be part of the song.’"(pp 182-183)
