The day was muted and muddy…
the kind of day when evil tastes the wind
to see if it has enough weight to carry omens.
Twila heard the dark hymns
singing from the live oak roots
and knew her knees couldn’t walk
through enough prayer to reach redemption.
Mama’s gift for reading the belly of the underworld
had slipped right through her womb into Twila.
No matter how many hallelujahs she coated
her tongue with, the devil could climb over them
to whisper in her ear.
Watching midnight clouds boil the sun
she knew hell was about to have church.
It wouldn’t do her any good to run,
because whichever direction she chose
would only lead to a front seat in the choir.
“All night Rachel clings to the tree”
Sandcastle andOther Stories by Justin Bog
“ The color in each vial was muted and muddy"
The Birth of Venus
by Sarah Dunant
“You do not have
to walk on your knees / for a hundred miles through the desert,
repenting”
Wild Geese by Mary
Oliver ~ Good Poems ~ Garrison Kellor
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