I wandered through real Texas dark, red clay under my feet and unable to see more than a few feet through the woods grasping a handful of my mother’s ashes in my fist as if I could somehow keep from losing her if I never let go. Eventually I collapsed by the side of the road and waited for the onrushing destruction that would come. Earlier that night my cousin Butch had looked at the bottle of Jim Beam that I was drinking directly from and said “there are no answers in there, I’ve looked”. I told him that I didn’t want answers. I didn’t believe in answers.

The neighbor dogs wanted me to believe that the were vicious. I didn’t fall for it. I dangled my feet in the lake while they watched with hungry eyes and tried to remember a day when I didn’t need to drink. Just back from the Rockies where we abandoned half of her to the mountains in a place called Horseshoe Park, we gave the rest of her to the east Texas clay.



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