Tate was named after the wind that gained strength over the vast desert plains and could not be tamed. Today the wind whistled through the gorges that cut through the rocky plateau. Tate lived in the Southwest, where streams had meandered through the red and gold rocks for countless ages, wearing away the stone so his people could learn the history of Earth by examining her layers. He was Chewta, and the Chewta loved Earth. How she sounded, how she smelled, how she ran through their blood in a hot flood that never ceased until the day when a Chewta bled his soul into her bosom to add to the layers.
Palmer’s short story, The Chewta, appears in The Almagre Review , Issue 5: Race, Class, and Gender. Available now.
Cover art by John Lewis. Posted with permission from the Almagre Review.