Pick the weevils from the grits. Mo

从沙粒中挑出象鼻虫。大部分的黎明，笑容灿烂，马云拥抱着她-“早上好，我的特殊女孩”-他们两个像舞蹈一样四处走动。有时马会唱民歌或引用童谣：“这只小猪去了市场。” 或者，她将Kya变成一个令人讨厌的虫子，脚踩在胶合板地板上，直到电池供电的收音机的音乐消失，听起来好像是在桶底唱歌。

从砂砾中挑选小虫。大多数黎明，面带微笑，妈妈拥抱了她——"早上好，我特别的女孩"——他们两个在家务里移动着，像跳舞一样。有时马唱民歌或引用童谣："这小猪去市场。或者她会把Kya摆动成一只抖动的虫子，他们的脚砰的一声敲打胶合板地板，直到电池供电的收音机的音乐响起，听起来像是在桶底唱歌。

Pick the weevils from the grits. Most dawns, smiling wide, Ma hugged her—“Good morning, my special girl”—and the two of them moved about the chores, dancelike. Sometimes Ma sang folk songs or quoted nursery rhymes: “This little piggy went to market.” Or she’d swing Kya into a jitterbug, their feet banging the plywood floor until the music of the battery-operated radio died, sounding as if it were singing to itself at the bottom of a barrel.<br>