“She’s tiny,” my father told me when he was preparing me to meet the queen. “Don’t move suddenly, don’t try to shake her hand. Curtsey – that’s appropriate, even for an American.”
Writing by Sallie Bingham
A collection of some of Sallie's original plays, poetry and short stories.
What I Learned from Fat Annie
When Dad was courting Fat Annie, she gave us a chandelier, not a cheap wire contraption but hand-forged welded iron.
Going Native (1995)
You don’t see many Anglos at the Indian dances these days, maybe because we’ve shamed ourselves out of attending, or they have.
Bear
Claire first saw the brown, barren-shaped shabby old female bear when the builder were laying out the dimensions of her new house.
Luke
On Thursday Miss Nancy told Luke they were going to spend the weekend in the country.
My Master’s Horse
I am my master’s horse but he does not make me lie down in green pastures.
Girl Alone
We don’t see fathers often and when one arrived, with his newspaper, I felt as though our circle was complete.
Couvade
The full text of my one-man show, Couvade, first performed at the Actors Theatre of Louisville in Kentucky in 1983.
Chaco
Chaco has been on my mind for years. I started a play about Willa Cather’s trip to the southwest, based on a fragment from a biography; since I was not
‟Winter Term” — from Mending: New and Selected Stories
They stood under the porch light and she held out her hands. He took them and slipped his fingers inside her gloves. Her palms were soft and lined.