Essay by Elisabeth Hedrick-Moser
Every walk I took with my daughter, the world opened before me as if newly created.
Every walk I took with my daughter, the world opened before me as if newly created.
I pondered Norma’s offer of salvation. Even if I believed in God, could I believe in one so spiteful, so churlish?
Thoughts about my death don’t hijack me anymore, although I can still capsize into the swamp of fear if I dwell too long on nonexistence.
Burying my religion to sell a novel? That’s bad faith—or no faith at all.
I find the board bearing the bright bloom of my blood and push the splinter into place.