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Tube Rose

The last evening I saw Granny Annie she was rocking in wicker, the whole porch creaking with the weight of her grief. All the neighbors and relatives had eaten and gossiped and gone, leaving their plates and tumblers and stains all over the house, their condolences trailing behind them like coon tails on aerials, and the flower wreaths were wilting on the grave.

Gates of Saigon

They knew better than to move off the buckets, though occasional sighs and slight fidgeting exposed their discomfort. Naked babies filled the room, indistinguishable with their shaved fuzzy hair, listless eyes and thin limbs spindling over scratched- [...]

The Grave

The grandfather, dead for more than thirty years, had been twice disturbed in his long repose by the constancy and possessiveness of his widow. She removed his bones first to Louisiana and then to Texas, as if she had set out to find her own burial place, knowing well she would never return to the places she had left.