As One Crying Out in the WildernessJill Alexander Essbaum
It was a voice I thought I heard. I swore to make straight the way of the Lord and the altar gave a little quiver. I licked the cup of wine as if it were a lover’s lip, while the angled face of an acolyte bent into a genuflecting scowl. That night, the transept swayed and flailed like the grown, pale arms of a woman waving goodbye. I was drunk and high, though neither were enough to soothe me into sleep. My tooth hurt like fair warning. My face was raped redly, burning as a book might, were it a sign. All the eve long, I pried at my shut soul with the lock pick of a prayer. God, fretted I, if you are there, then you must now answer, one way or another. But only the candle blinked. So I took another drink.
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