That's not the way to do it, she said.
You don't find a good husband by running around with the Summer People.
You got to stick to your own kind, she said, she said you ain't like them.
But that's age speaking. That's not the new.
I like it with the Summer People. I like the way they look at me.
With them, I'm exotic and pagan and dark, like a deep, rich spice they can consume and enrapture themselves with the scent of.
And all through the year, I lock that up and I treasure it until they come again.
Then it spills out musky and strong and spells spin themselves over White Men under my heavy glance.