ICYMI, Part VIII
ICYMI, Part VIII
by Sedona Lynn
That day, God was blue pills, white rails, amber bottles; a rainbow promise with an asterisk: I got her back, but only a changeling came back from beyond the veil and now she’s a ghost a shadow a shell and my wish is coin spit back into my face. Take me. I would have traded. Given her the sanctified vulgarity of an oceanic baptism and the peculiar sorrow of rootedness instead. God was a baby. I thought she was mine, but would I have been so sure if I had known what was to come?
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