THE TWO-HOLER by Judy Lee Green
a broom straw in her mouth, kicking my legs, knocking flies, listening to the drone of dirt daubers in the upper corner of the outhouse, thinking about Little Miss Muffet as I watched a spider descend from the ceiling on a thread of silk. Sticky with the cotton candy heat of a July morning I was inhaling barnyard odors, listening to chickens softly cluck and scratch for worms outside the door, hearing the creek gurgle down the hill behind us, crows caw, songbirds sing, my granddaddy, as he called to the mule in the lower forty as he plowed, feeling the rough cut of the sawmill board as my hand played along the edge of the seat, watching my granny fan with a Sears and Roebuck sale catalog, noticing light leak through the cracks of the walls and hopscotch on the floor, savoring the salty taste in my mouth of country ham and mouth-watering cathead biscuits and sawmill gravy for breakfast, shuddering at the bucket of corn cobs in the corner and dreading their roughness, smelling old maids beside the door and hollyhocks growing up the side, anticipating making hollyhock dancers and floating them in the creek again today. Sitting on a two-holer with my granny and wishing summer vacation would never end. |
Judy Lee Green is an award-winning writer who discovered her craft at the age of nine. She has received recognition throughout the Southeast for her work in fiction, creative non-fiction, poetry and essay. She has been published in numerous magazines, newspapers, business publications, journals and on the web. Currently residing in Murfreesboro, Tennessee, she is compiling a collection of creative non-fiction about her childhood, growing up in East Tennessee in the 1950s.
And read more by Judy at USADS here: Sleeping With the Sausage
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