Seed in the Dust
Seed in the Dust The dust came in April. It came like a fog that had forgotten how to be water—brown, thick, moving across the Kansas plains with the determination of an army that had nothing left to lose. Mary O'Sullivan stood on the porch of the Blackwell Apartments and watched it. The dust made the sky the color of a bruise. It made the air taste like dirt. It made...
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