“You see you got to know where he came from where I come from not out of some pride some obstinate deference to roots but a vernacular used sparsely and at the right time.  For what do you know out of what I told you about my father and when I was three my first memory of his father?  In little there is small but in all the layers of a town of a country there is an innocence to what is of color and oppression of rich and poor the divisions and distances like you take a street here in Hemphill and you look out your window from block to block stop sign to stop sign some of it municipal land and sidewalks but the yards the subdivisions in a sunset the trailer parks and the houses some of brick and siding and others white-washed and then molded with dirt the rotted woodwork the insulation exposed the roofs missing shingles all this like in pictures black and white where other people live on this side or that side of the railroad tracks the signs you see and what’s in those yards is it gardens and flowers and molted sculptures all in shades of gray or is it children’s toys in red seeing many rains and thrown out plumbing and car parts the skeletons of kitchen appliances barb wire the gutted thrift the tires and hoards of the poor where in my mother’s time the laundry was done outside the women in men’s clothes too big for them bandannas about their heads wearing hobnail boots unlaced over wash basins and wash boards not making any music except the monotonous friction of scrub brushes a dog at their heels an outside dog as they look without ever taking a bath and do you see as you already see and know taking those streets those different streets of class and division the past and this is not my future the gated properties surrounded by the latticework of green vines and wide porches where rocking chairs sit next to iron-wrought tables with empty tea glasses the melting ice that I live here and you live there and all this will be added unto you and from me taken away the education the money the food the job and who gives it and who takes it and can I come to your front door or do I have to go around back this innocence to if I envy you for what you have or merely envy what you have and how do I get it is it even possible do I have to have some sort of design a plan to have what you have the house the land the money…” (the lover: but that is just a type a greed and not an individual for even the gene of the oldest man hundreds of thousands of years old comes from the sounds of such wash basins the antediluvian plains of all this and who has the bone and first sees it as a tool and how one man becomes two men and then three and how a community is formed the division of labor and of ownership territories marked by urine and engineered sewage systems and then the bartering the laws passed and ratified the nomination of judges their written word filibusters created to explain the arguments of founding fathers as industry and corporate persons come into existence and are edified into amendments becoming the comedy of media used to disseminate the news the propaganda of outrage a garnered laugh the same thing just told different ways to complicate what isn’t complicated at all—: because it’s just sex you know…) “No you’re white trash and I’m a nigger,” Dulcinea says in their room of darkness coiled in his body her lover’s arms the voice the song the undertones speaking moaning and pleading the sound going in and out the timing like breath a kindergarten she can’t remember and this time too in many years a faded memory forgotten and prophesied what is always discussed as what is real and what is not—“for I am my father’s daughter just as you are your mother’s son and the story is the story of the middle class and how it was created and how it disappears into the gulf of our nakedness what I’m not ashamed to show you here for here now in this room a child asleep I hear my father’s voice but it is not calling to me it is not asking where I am for in the story he told me about how Benjy died how their lover died God doesn’t have to call out for me as we hide here in our nakedness for why does God have to go looking for you?  God don’t ask questions He don’t have the answer for.  He goes walking through this our garden our afternoon delight of earth knowing why He doesn’t have a companion.  What I knew in my nakedness at three what I know now here with you without feeling any guilt at all.  The pride the humility the unfathomable history of the outcast the stone the builder refused…

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