How many flowers…

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Daffodils during the daytime
Photo by Klaudia Pyc on Unsplash
How many flowers underneath our Sunday dresses, pinks and crinolines skipping toward the church, while our mothers, squeezed tight in their mother shells, were marching along dreaming of a Christ who would redeem the emptiness of bedrooms. I was a happy little girl with the bright eyes of a believer. For God was a man in the monotony of the hovering heavens, and winter-long absence. God was a man and in a low voice I confided to him my most outrageous temptations. I was entering then, with his complicity, into the impatience of books.

Read more from Issue 15.1.

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