At dawn, Ruby Waters life light went out, in the dark her children cried; a candle glowed against the rustic rough boards of the shanty shadowing the souls left behind. Laid to rest quickly in the Louisiana heat; the moon cast a glow on her shallow grave. The children’s tears burn hot upon their dirt-streaked faces as relatives who heard the shots took them away. Drunken Gat Waters had shot his emancipated wife because she was pregnant again then yelled, “Now dat’ are two less mouths to feed”. They were swamp folk no one outside Bayou Gauche would ever know.
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