An excerpt of “Sybil’s War” from Dirt Water Revival.

One of her earliest memories started with a jar she found underneath the Catalpa bean tree. She was four, maybe five digging for worms with her big sister. Mahaly said they had to find worms so they could fish. They had to fish so they could eat. They had to fish because Mama and Daddy didn’t cook. They’d fight and then they’d smoke.

        She said Daddy’s upside-down tomato plants were making Mama and him fight again. Something about the leaves not drying right. Mahaly didn’t tell her they weren’t real tomato plants.

        When they fought, the food ran out because he spent most of the money on his rotten cokes. She didn’t really understand, but she liked the way the dirt felt under her fingertips. It was cold and everywhere else was hot. The blades on the fans whirred round and round, but it seemed only good enough to put Daddy to sleep in his easy chair. When he slept in his easy chair, she and Mahaly had to put out his cigarette. Mahaly never let her if she was around; she said his cigarettes weren’t safe because he didn’t buy them from the store. They didn’t have the pillow top that most store-bought ones had. She didn’t know. She just knew Shelby’s daddy, Mr. Frank, didn’t have homemade cigarettes, and Shelby had dolls to play with. She and Mahaly just had the worms.

       She was digging with a fork. Mahaly had the trowel. She was pretty sure it was the neighbor’s tool, but Mama said he was a pervert so she didn’t figure it was too bad to take his stuff. He shouldn’t be a pervert and people might give a care. She didn’t really know what giving a care meant, but she knew Mama didn’t have any for the neighbor. Daddy said he ain’t had no shits to give him, but she didn’t know poop could be a good gift. She didn’t much think she’d like to have that as a gift given how much it stunk when she used the commode.

       Her fork tinked against the glass. Mahaly stopped what she was doing to inspect.

       “Get back, Mae. Could be a cannon ball.”

       “What’s a cannon ball doing under our tree?”

       Mahaly shrugged her eight-year-old shoulders. “I dunno. Paw Paw says he found a whole ton of them out in his pasture. Came from Sybil’s war he said.”

       “Who’s Sybil?”

       “I think it was his mama. Maw Maw said she was pretty hateful.”

       “So she started a whole war?”

       “I guess.”