![]() ![]() If God was talking to me, he wouldn’t be asking questions. ![]() The voice is so resonant, so deep and rasping, for a moment, I think God is talking to me from the clouds. And I stare up at the sky in wonder and gratitude, begging it to take me with her. It rolls down my arms in rivulets and takes away the sting of digging fingertips, the rap of a wooden spoon, the snap of a leather belt. Moisture lands on my eyelids, cheeks and chin. When the clouds snap and break overhead, showering the earth with bullets of rain. ![]() I couldn’t take the time to change into black clothing or I might have missed this moment. Normally a risk, but I know my father is currently distracted by a work emergency. The white nightgown I’m wearing billows around me, making me visible from the house. I lie out in the center of the field on the rippling grass, my fingers stretched up toward the sky, electricity dancing up and down my limbs. ![]()
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