We Hold Our Treasures, We Bury Them
Maria Zoccola
When the Mississippi River starts hauling itself up its own banks like kudzu reaching for the sun, Traci leaves off napping to the sound of the endless rain slapping the windshield and takes action. She slithers over the center console and into the heart of her nest, a fabulous collection packed floor to ceiling from the minivan's trunk to the back bench to the bucket seats and beyond, which includes, among other valuables: cans of soup and three black sneakers, bicycle tires, a rusted bird cage, a sewing machine, a four-piece cast-iron cookware set, spoons and two whisks, an unstrung compound bow, a cordless drill (still in box), a rubber-banded bunch of number-two pencils, an umbrella with a polished wooden handle, a clear umbrella, an umbrella with ruffles on its spines, earmuffs, a red alarm clock, eleven scented candles (various scents), and a doorjamb in the shape of a seahorse. It has been two months since the nest has included a cell phone. She finds what she's looking for wedged behind the toddler's booster still strapped to the right bucket seat: an inflatable kiddie pool, orange and pink, curled in its original cardboard box in a thousand intestinal folds. Traci… Read more »