Demon Copperhead

by Barbara Kingsolver

the dog-breath air of late summer and fall,

Nance Peggot

Add to that, coming out still inside the fetus ziplock.

I wasted more hours up in those woods than you’d want to count, alongside of a boy named Maggot,

Maggot was short for Matt Peggot,

his grandmother.

Famously, this place where we lived was known to be crawling with copperheads.

Melungeon,

Mrs. Peggot’s

Clara Peggotty

Virginia,

Devil’s Bathtub.

The Peggots next door in their yard had a birdhouse

It was the bird version of these trailer pileups

like under the hood

Maggot

As far as the Damon part, leave it to her to pop out a candy-ass boy-band singer name like that.

I was starting to get known as Demon Copperhead. You can’t deny, it’s got a power to it.

How does it feel to turn legal drinking age, and already be three years into AA?

A hot mess

Maggot.

Matty Peggot

The Peggots had four girls,

half the kids at school had to line up for their pills from the nurse every day before recess.

Melungeon.

laths

caul.

We both lay back down, and she looked at me in the eyes, and we were sad together for a while. I’ll never forget how that felt. Like not being hungry.

nefrotism.

walleyed fit.

pushing a wheelchair with a little man in it. Oh kay. Little brother Dick.

Melungeon

But in all the

ways that she was tall and sturdy, he was little and crooke...

almost hurt to look at him, his little feet both tu...

They had the exact same eyes though,

Jane Ellen

person rounded up some things for me to wear.

Chairs with goddamn feet.

The description of the grandmother's furniture having "little feet" on them in Demon Copperhead symbolizes a few things, primarily relating to a sense of stability, tradition, and a slightly old-fashioned, delicate respectability that is otherwise largely absent from Demon's chaotic upbringing.

bathtub I was sitting in had feet, that looked like scary bird claws.

The description of the grandmother's furniture having "little feet" on them in Demon Copperhead symbolizes a few things, primarily relating to a sense of stability, tradition, and a slightly old-fashioned, delicate respectability that is otherwise largely absent from Demon's chaotic upbringing.

Jane Ellen was number eleven of the girls my grandmother had raised up and educated.

They both treated Brother Dick like their pet, asking his opinions on things, leaning over to wipe off his chin.

His was this green milkshake thing they brought him in a big glass with a straw because one of his problems was with swallowing.

But I kept my mouth shut. It’s safer knowing more about people than they know about you.

his hands were amazing. Tiny and clean,

It took some time for her to make up her mind about me. She was one of these that is never going to be wrong, period.

He had the neatest, littlest writing ever to come out of a human person. To be so crooked in his body, his lines of writing were straighter than straight.

Big Stone Gap,

The string was pulling hard in the wind, but I towed it back to Mr. Dick and put it in his hand. “Hang on tight,” I said, and flopped on the ground beside him, panting like a dog. He was quiet, holding

that string and kite with everything he had. The way he looked. Eyes raised up, body tethered by one long thread to the big stormy sky, the whole of him up there with his words, talking to whoever was listening. I’ve not seen a sight to match it. No bones of his had ever been shoved in a feed bag. The man was a giant.

She said mine was just to be a little boy. Weird. I’d not had that job before.