Friday, August 20, 2010

What on Earth: the shortest autobiography

Many times they said to the child, There is no god in your house. No God in your house. She stared at her hands, saw in them trees. Becoming clumsy, she’d fall, walk into jagged.

A day she began to bleed. Realized rivers. Let rafts empty her, into Ocean.

Then. What on Earth they taught her, became holy: it softened. She’d visit, find arrowheads, pray.

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