“Last time I seen Teadora she was collectin’ them river weeds she weaves in ta’ baskets.”
“Been weavin’ that same old basket over a year. Ain’t got no real shape. Looks more like a banana than a bowl. Big, too”
“She’s a crazy nigger. Not worth a hoot. Stupider than a stump.”
“And I paid 800 bucks for her.”
Behind the house, Teadora listens. Smiles. Loops the bag over her shoulder. Inside? All her belongings – one blouse and raggedy scarf.
By the light of a half-moon she strolls to the river bank, climbs in her tule reed boat and paddles away.
Up From the Ashes 