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The Grass Dancer
   3.83 avg rating — 556 ratings
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published
1994
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16 editions
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Roofwalker
3.80 avg rating — 60 ratings
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published
2002
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2 editions
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The Grass Dancer
5.00 avg rating — 2 ratings
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Danseur D'Herbe
0.00 avg rating — 0 ratings
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Art of the Cherokee: Prehistory to the Present
0.00 avg rating — 0 ratings
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published
2007
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Strong Heart Society
0.00 avg rating — 0 ratings
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To My Husband: A Treasury of Romantic Thoughts and Verse
by Susan Power, Thomas Moore, Elizabeth Barrett Browning 0.00 avg rating — 0 ratings
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English
0.00 avg rating — 0 ratings
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Riding Shotgun: Women Write About Their Mothers
by Kathryn Kysar (Goodreads Author) , Jonis Agee , Elizabeth Jarret Andrew  4.29 avg rating — 31 ratings
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published
2008
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2 editions
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The Year's Best Fantasy and Horror: Sixteenth Annual Collection
by Ellen Datlow (Goodreads Author) , Corey Marks, Eric Shaller 3.84 avg rating — 90 ratings
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published
2003
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5 editions
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“A permanent dull ache spread from my belly to my chest. I thought I could feel pinpricks of loneliness in the pads of my fingers, taste it in the back of my mouth. Clara Miller must have been lonely too, longing to be touched. One day as she sat before her metal tub filled to the rim with sweet corn, she reached behind her head and unpinned her silver hair. It tumbled down her back like creamy lace cloak. She hiked her skirts to her knees and I could see she had removed her stockings. Her legs were heavy and milk white, solid as columns. She hiked her skirts higher, until they bunched in her lap.
When I kissed the back of her neck she quivered, like the dying peasant I’d shot and killed a week before. Her silver hair smelled like smoke. Clara and I tangled together like the bale of wire resting beside the unrepaired chicken coop. We were shameless, falling to the ground, wading into the creek, making our way to her bed.”
― Susan Power, The Grass Dancer
When I kissed the back of her neck she quivered, like the dying peasant I’d shot and killed a week before. Her silver hair smelled like smoke. Clara and I tangled together like the bale of wire resting beside the unrepaired chicken coop. We were shameless, falling to the ground, wading into the creek, making our way to her bed.”
― Susan Power, The Grass Dancer
“She had always been different, even when she tried not to be, unable to curb her curiosity which led her to read a great number of books. Her world was constantly expanding until she could no longer fit herself into the culture that was most important to her.”
― Susan Power, The Grass Dancer
― Susan Power, The Grass Dancer
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