Published in Greensboro Review Issue 97
Winner of the 2014 Robert Watson Fiction Prize
“Dalia brought the butt of her shotgun to her shoulder. Everything was damp, clammy, and the air smelled of blooming magnolias and churned up swamp-bed, sweet and earthy all at once. Her husband stood, grinning, on the edge of her property where water met land. He spread his arms, palms towards God, and shrugged a little. Bud was a large man, wide and tall, and his broad shoulders looked ridiculous shuffling around under his denim coveralls. He took a step forward, his mudboots sinking into the black gumbo of the bayou that banked her garden.”
