- Published: 01 May 2019 01 May 2019
Excerpted noteworthy poetry and prose from her ladyship's bedside reading stack
I had been a town girl once, when Daddy clerked at the hardware store. Momma and Daddy and I lived upstairs. Leo hadn't been born. What I remember is that inside our home, the curtains fluttered in a breeze that I tried to catch in my hand, and when I walked on the sidewalk with Momma the sun made the world too bright at the edges and hard to see. The fresh-cut pine smell from the boards in the sidewalk made me want to inhale all the air all at once.
I taught myself to read before I turned four, pronouncing words from the sides of grain sacks and the labels on medicine bottles at the store. Saying the black and gold lettering's alchemy aloud, I practiced my words. "Hoofland's Bitters for the Liver," I said. "We sell everything from horse shoes to hats." For the longest time I believed the store only sold objects that started with the letter "H."
A few months before God brought Leo, we packed up and moved to a big white house and acreage outside town, where Daddy said a man could be himself and not feel like other people and their avarice--he spit the word in a way that frightened me--shadowed him at every turn.
--Jessica Handler, The Magnetic Girl, (Hub City Press, 2019) 9781938235481