INVERTED SYNTAX
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      • We Are All Artists Exhibit Guide
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  • The Fissured Tongue Series
    • Fissured Tongue Volume 6
    • Fissured Tongue Volume 5
    • Fissured Tongue Volume 4
    • Fissured Tongue Volume 3
    • Fissured Tongue Volume 2
    • Fissured Tongue Volume 1
    • Online Issue One
    • Online Issue Two
  • Submission Guidelines
    • The Fissured Tongue Series Guide
    • POETRY BOOK CONTESTS
  • Poetry Contest Results
    • 2024 POETRY BOOK CONTESTS RESULTS
    • Sublingua 2023 Results
    • Sublingua 2022 Results
    • Sublingua 2020 Results
    • Sublingua 2019 Results
  • About Us
    • Masthead
    • More
      • Interviews
      • Blog
        • Blog
      • Resources
        • Writing resources
        • Mile-High MFA
          • Mile-High MFA Writers
          • Mile-High MFA Website
          • Faculty News & Interviews
    • Our Contributors
    • Mission
  • Store
  • Nominations & Awards
    • Pushcart Prize
    • Best of the Net
    • Best Micro Fiction
  • The Art of the Postcard
    • About The Art of the Postcard
    • Art of the Postcard Issue 3
    • Art of the Postcard Issue 2
    • Art of the Postcard Issue 1
    • We Are All Artists Exhibit
      • Video Compilation FirehouseArt Center Postcard Exhibit
      • Firehouse Exhibitors 2022
        • Churnage FirehouseArt Center Postcard Exhibit
        • Daniel Staub Weinberg Firehouse Art Center Postcard Exhibit
        • Genevieve Rose Barr Art Center Postcard Exhibit
        • Eva Schultz Firehouse Art Center Postcard Exhibit
        • Samantha Malay Firehouse Art Center Postcard Exhibit
        • D Allen Firehouse Art Center Postcard Exhibit
        • Hayley Harris Firehouse Art Center Postcard Exhibit
        • Tony Peyser Firehouse Art Center Postcard Exhibit
        • Sarah Santoni Firehouse Art Center Postcard Exhibit
        • Julia Klatt Singer Firehouse Art Center Postcard Exhibit
        • Kathryn Kruse Firehouse Art Center Postcard Exhibit
        • Meg Freer Firehouse Art Center Postcard Exhibit
        • Moira Walsh Firehouse Art Center Postcard Exhibit
        • Stephanie Staab Firehouse Art Center Postcard Exhibit
        • Anne Swannell Firehouse Art Center Postcard Exhibit
        • Laura Knott Firehouse Art Center Postcard Exhibit
        • Jo Goren Firehouse Art Center Postcard Exhibit
        • CR Resetarits Firehouse Art Center Postcard Exhibit
        • Sarah Ernestine Firehouse Art Center Postcard Exhibit
        • Stephanie Johnson Firehouse Art Center Postcard Exhibit
        • Charles J. March III Firehouse Art Center Postcard Exhibit
        • Emily Mosley Firehouse Art Center Postcard Exhibit
        • Grace Desmarais Firehouse Art Center Postcard Exhibit
        • Emily Vieweg Firehouse Art Center Postcard Exhibit
        • Claire Lawrence Firehouse Art Center Postcard Exhibit
        • Meca'Ayo Cole Firehouse Art Center Postcard Exhibit
        • Andrea Rexilius Firehouse Art Center Postcard Exhibit
        • Christian Garduno Firehouse Art Center Postcard Exhibit
        • Salma Ahmad Caller Firehouse Art Center Postcard Exhibit
        • Glenn Thomas Firehouse Art Center Postcard Exhibit
        • Claire Yspol Firehouse Art Center Postcard Exhibit
        • Michael Thompson Firehouse Art Center Postcard Exhibit
        • Rikki Santer Firehouse Art Center Postcard Exhibit
        • Laura Gamache Firehouse Art Center Postcard Exhibit
        • Christine Williams Firehouse Art Center Postcard Exhibit
        • Stephanie Beechem Firehouse Art Center Postcard Exhibit
        • Imma Dunach Firehouse Art Center Postcard Exhibit
        • Ginny Short Firehouse Art Center Postcard Exhibit
        • Josh Lefkowitz Firehouse Art Center Postcard Exhibit
        • Carolyn Adams Firehouse Art Center Postcard Exhibit
      • We Are All Artists Exhibit Guide
      • We are All Artists Submission Form Firehouse Art Center Postcard Exhibit
Human expression is never orderly.
​It is a space of disruption.To let ourselves express means to be vulnerable.​It means to invert syntax so as to articulate the visceral. 




​​​The Fissured Tongue Series 

In Every Flower

Sophie Braxton
Picture
"Flowers" by H. Lyman Saÿen; oil on canvas; 30 1⁄8 x 36 1⁄8 in; 1915; open source from the Smithsonian American Art Museum
THE OLD
9:00 service. Sunday Morning. The colors in the windows, the windows in the walls, the walls that they built to keep god here so he won’t go anywhere else (but he does). ETERNAL LIGHT METHODIST CHURCH, all in capital letters every time because they yell here. They yell very loudly. They yell big words I do not think god knows.

                                   God speaks the kind of language I play on my violin.
                                                 He does not know the words Animosity,
                                                                                                Malevolence,
                                                                         Even words as small as
                                                          Fear.

Today is a sad day, with wet tissues like worms in puddles – everybody on their backs with their legs going crazy for something to hold. The old ladies wear big hats that have flowers on them. I used to get excited about those flowers, but it turns out that they are not real. They do not smell the way a flower should smell, when it has finished blooming, making peace with the sky. These flowers are unhappy, sewn tight onto hats.

The ants are treading water, heads held just above the wake.

​
OLD LADY 1: I just feel bad for Pastor Paul. There’s not too much to say about this, is there?

OLD LADY 2: Maybe not. Maybe not
(their voices echo, like how shoes tap, like how birds fly against the windows.)
OLD LADY 1: Suicide. (pause with the sound of lipstick clinging to her teeth) I wouldn’t know how to address it. At that age, I was looking forward to college.

OLD LADY 2: Sure. Sure.

OLD LADY 1: Not much to say,
                                           really.
(ROACH begins to play his violin. they do not notice.)
ROACH is me. When I listen to the congregation talk, I only perceive. I never judge. I remember everything they say, and it fits inside my body very nicely. That is what makes me this color of dark red – because their voices are filled with malice. If I lived outside, I might be light blue. I might be clear like un-stained windows, but then I would float away. The people weigh me down. They keep me here. I’ve never been to the sky, so I’m not sure where I’d rather be.

All I know is, I like it here.

I play my violin in the friendly way that one should speak to god, and it is beautiful. The air grows thin, too fragile to breathe, and that is because god is yawning a happy yawn. I play him to sleep on my back, like a child, and I carry him with me wherever I go. But wherever I go, he’s already there.
(Everyone stands like trees, so still and tall.  ANDREW and ABIGAIL are in the center like the moon, casting scary shadows where they look. MICAH holds his bible, his unmoving face and his eyes pointed down. the snails come out of their shells with shiny undone bodies
MAN: (touching ANDREW’s arm, like a sad smile, like the way that the bells sound) She’s in a better place now, Andrew.
​
MICAH: No she isn’t. Grace will have no salvation. Grace disobeyed god’s word and will be punished.
(ABIGAIL pulls MICAH towards her, blowing out her nose. her face is red and wet. she shakes her head.)
MICAH: Mom, she isn’t in heaven. Deuteronomy 30: “Today I have given you the choice between life and death. Now I call on heaven and earth to witness the choice you make. That you would choose life, so that you and your descendants might live.”

ABIGAIL (softly, hopeless): Micah.

ANDREW (angry, exploding): Micah!
​
MICAH: It’s in the bible! (holding up his bible, like a baby dripping water) Grace is a sinner! She’s in hell now! In hell!
​(two MEN lead MICAH away. ANDREW thanks them
with his eyes,
and puts his arms
around his wife.)
MICAH is kicking and screaming. I follow them, close against the wall, so I can hear what they’re saying and remember. MICAH knows so many big words; I don’t think it’s good for his brain.
 
​
MICAH (wrestling with the MEN. Running out of breath. Shirt is all stretched out): Grace will not have salvation! She disobeyed! The bible says! She cursed the lord! And she drank! On Sunday she drank! On Sunday! On God’s day! “Remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy” – she disobeyed! She always did!
(ANDREW and ABIGAIL pretend not to hear. some people try looking, but their families whisper stop it)
I play my violin in slow, sad strokes – petting god’s hair as he cries. I feel his weight against me, and it feels good. MICAH is screaming the words to my song. He is making it ugly. He is looking up, where he thinks god is.
​
But I know that god is not only in the clouds.  God is MICAH, and me. He is the flowers outside of the window, and the organ shaking my wings awake. 
(I often forget that I have wings, until the organ plays.)
​I hide in a dark, warm corner to rest. In my sleep, I dream of things that happened long ago when GRACE was here, and MICAH was small, with hair as short as patience.

(One day at Sunday school, when MICAH was little)
​MICAH: Why did god grant Jacob salvation if Jacob deceived his father? He took Esau’s name and blessing by deception. How could god forgive him?
(ROACH played his violin. they did not hear. MICAH wrung his hands. KIDS laughed out of their noses and smiled at each other.)
GRACE: Shut up, guys.

MICAH: Mrs. Brown, Grace said shut up. Mom says we’re not allowed to say that.

GRACE: They were laughing at you, Micah!
​
MICAH: Jacob should not have had salvation. He deceived his father. He deceived Esau. Esau had already promised him his blessing. Esau would have kept his promise.
(MRS. BROWN quiets him, and they all bow their heads)

Dear god, (this is how they say to start all prayers, like a letter, like a little hesitation)
Your petals are opening now; I see them through the window.
I watch you going around and around – up to the sky, and down, making dots on the windows, and funny little shadows.
These people do not notice,
Let them notice,
Help them see.
 
PASTOR PAUL (hands raised, open, upwards. head bowed down): Dear god, our lord almighty, we ask you to be with Andrew, Abigail, and Micah in their time of hardship. The entire congregation is incredibly saddened at the loss of our beautiful Grace, who inspired us all with her strong spirit and tenacity. There is no death more upsetting than one in which a young person takes their own life. God, we ask you to help us in lifting the burden of Andrew, Abigail, and Micah. In the name of Jesus, amen.

CONGREGATION: amen.
 
I do remember faintly the things outside of the windows. There were tall tall trees that covered the sky. The sky is a big mass of blue, and it starts where the tallest tree stops. There were many blades of grass that stroked me as I ran, so happy to be touched by god. I knew the earth by heart. I have forgotten almost everything about my friends the ladybugs by now, but I know so much about organs, and music, and MICAH. I am learning so many new words.
+ + + +

(Wednesday. OLD LADIES gathered together, faces close, with bony fingers)
OLD LADY 1: She wasn’t a good kid.

OULD LADY 2: Oh, but when she was little? She was adorable! Those cheeks, remember? And those pretty blue eyes. Micah didn’t get those eyes.

OLD LADY 1: They’re from Andrew. Nice eyes, you’re right. But her attitude!

OLD LADY 3: She was a thing to put up with, wasn’t she?

OLD LADY 1: Her and her brother.

OLD LADY 2: Oh, come on. You can’t expect Micah to... You know, he has…
​
OLD LADY 1: Autism? Or Asperger’s, I don’t know. Well, I don’t expect him to behave! He never does. He’s always difficult. 
(silence. OLD LADY 1 shakes her head to get the devil out)
OLD LADY 3: Smart kid, though.
​
OLD LADY 1: Of course. Smart.
(DIRECTOR PETE claps his hands and they flip pages in their books. they sing to get the devil out)
The devil, I have never seen - under any tables or outside any windows.

They speak of him so often here, in whispers and in song.

MICAH does it loudly, holding his bible

Like a baby dripping water,

Like how they wash their hands

To save themselves

From what is on their skin,

And ask forgiveness

Every Sunday

Every Sunday in this room.

I do not know what they want forgiveness for.

I do not believe that babies are born dirty,

But I play my violin

With them,
​
And then I feel at home.
+ + + +
2:00. Funny shadows. Slow music. Flowers too big for their vases. A picture of grace from a long time ago when she still had blonde hair. People I haven’t seen before, and everyone I have. Most wearing black. That’s a lovely picture of her, they say, in voices that shrink to the size of me.

There are so many people.

More than I have ever seen.

They fill up my entire vision and soon they are all there is,
​
Shifting from foot to foot and making sniffling sounds.

 
PASTOR PAUL speaks big words in between sad songs. The words I do not understand, but the music I do. In slow organ language, it says,
GRACE had died, we are sad.
But god, please don’t bring her back.
ANDREW and ABIGAIL whisper prayers with watery mouths. MICAH stares ahead.

Many people make the same speech, saying things about GRACE.

Good things, from so many years ago –

He cheeks. Her eyes. How she always asked questions
​
Before she stopped believing the answers.
 
​
MICAH approaches the microphone in a black suit. He wrings his hands, he clears his throat, and everyone coughs. Much silence fills the room, so much silence it turns into noise. MICAH unfolds a piece of paper. All of the centipedes look for their homes.
 
MICAH (reading from the paper): Grace was my sister. She liked to draw pictures, and sometimes we did it together. She taught me how to draw flowers. I am grateful for everything she taught me. (looks up) Grace is a good name even though it doesn’t fit her. 
(ABIGAIL starts to stand up, but ANDREW takes her arm. MICAH looks back at his paper. his face screws all up. he’s getting to the difficult part now – maybe some words even he can’t pronounce.)
​I have to say something really nice about Grace, mom says. (very long pause, longer than rivers) One good thing about Grace is that she was kind. Everybody forgets that she was kind because she wore black lipstick and sometimes it got on her teeth, and when she talked it smelled like smoke, and her fingernails were way too sharp. But she was kind. Kind means taking other people into consideration.
 

I have seen GRACE’s drawings of flowers. They were so beautiful I lost my breath. MICAH’s drawings, slightly less.
+ + + +
After this funeral, MICAH gets quieter. He may have lost his voice.

I play my violin so well, but he does not rejoice.

He holds his bible to his chest.

His eyes, they are sore from the words.

The congregation balances minor and

Major chords.
 
OLD LADY 1: How has your husband been? Doing okay?

OLD LADY 2: Holding up.

OLD LADY 1: And you?

OLD LADY 2: Can’t complain. (glances at the wooden cross) I’m blessed. I thank the lord everyday.

OLD LADY 1: Of course. How were Andrew and Abigail when you went over last night?

OLD LADY 2: They were fine.

OLD LADY 1 (a smile beginning. not a kind one): And Micah?

OLD LADY 2: He was up in his room, I guess. I didn’t see him. (pause) I have to say, they rushed me out.

OLD LADY 1: That’s rude.

OLD LADY 2 (nodding): I brought them a nice casserole.

OLD LADY 1: I’m going over on Friday. I haven’t decided what to make.

OLD LADY 2: Don’t overthink it. They didn’t seem to care.

OLD LADY 1: You’d think they’d be a little more appreciative about all this.
​
OLD LADY 2: It did bother me a little, I have to say.
(OLD LADY 3 enters)
OLD LADY 3: Hello, girls! How are you?

OLD LADY 2: Can’t complain.

OLD LADY 1: Doing well.
 
I remember that outside there was water going quickly, making loud noises on top of many stones. God was there beside me as I stood. We watched and listened. Our thoughts were not words; they were the sounds of the water. I do not remember any words from outside of the windows. I must have forgotten them all. Words are easy to forget.
THE NEW
9:00. Sunday service. Everyone welcoming a new family – BETH and NATHAN and ROSE.
 
ROSE (rocking back and forth, looking past everything in front of her, mouth open very wide): Aaaahhhh aaahh ah aah
 
ROSE rocks the whole service. Blonde hair flies behind her. Her parents speak calmly at the microphone and everyone says welcome. ROSE says ahhh ah ah.
 
OLD LADY 1: Welcome to our family, Rose! (grabs a limp hand that soon goes crazy like a fish) You have such beautiful eyes! (smiles at BETH and NATHAN. everyone nods)
​

ROSE: Aaah aah aaahah
(ABIGAIL and ANDREW keep whispering to MICAH. he stands up.)
MICAH: Hi, Rose. I’m Micah. (puts out his hand) Nice to meet you.

ABIGAIL (coming up from behind like a tiger): Hello! It’s so lovely to meet you two. This is Micah. (puts her hand on his shoulder. he moves away, his hand still extended. Rose stares and rocks.) He has autism too – a little more mild. We’re glad you’re here. That’s Andrew, my husband. You said Rose is seven? She’s adorable. She’s so tiny! Micah is thirteen.

We actually had an eighteen

Year old

Daughter,

But she…

A few months

Ago

She

            Passed.

MICAH (to ROSE): Your hair is the same color my sister’s used to be.

Never dye your hair.

It’s damaging. Also, you are seven,

Which is a good age to start reading the bible. It’s very interesting. You should probably start from the beginning. I began reading the bible when I was seven. I have now read it twenty two times in its entirety. I have bookmarks in it, see? That’s how you can find your favorite parts. My favorite story is Jacob and Esau even though it makes me angry. Esau deserves salvation. Jacob does not. There are either two or three parts of the bible. The old and the new testaments are a given. There is another part called the Apocrypha, which not everybody knows about or considers a true part of the sacred text, but I like it. Your eyes also look like my sister’s. Why are you rocking back and forth? Why are you rocking back and forth?

Why are you rocking back and forth?

Mom, why is she rocking back and forth?
 

ABIGAIL and BETH leave hand in hand. ABIGAIL is happy. Is this not salvation? Is BETH not god? That is all god is – he knows our trouble. When I am on my back, and my legs going wild with no one to help me, god does not flip me over.

He lies on his back with me, so close we are touching.

And we listen to each other breathing.
 

Dear god,
Ahh ah ahhhh,
The sound of water
Touching the rocks until
They are as smooth as the water itself.
The sound of a baby
Still speaking
Heaven’s language.
The sound of those beetles
That exist to sing
The stars to sleep.
+ + + +
 
(ROSE does not look at MICAH and MICAH does not look at ROSE. he looks at his bible. she spins the wheels on her toy car.)
MICAH: Rose. Rose. Rose. Rose.

ROSE: Aaaah ahhh
​
MICAH: Rose, I want to read you a story from the bible. My favorite story, the story of Jacob and Esau. Okay? (sound of wheels spinning) Are you listening? Are you ready? Rose. Rose. Rose!
(MICAH snatches ROSE’s toy car and throws it.)
​ROSE: Ahhh! Ahhh! Aaaaah!
(ROSE goes crazy like a fish,
out of water, out of breath.
MICAH screams at her.)​

Everyone is afraid of ROSE. They think she is like a field, stretching on and on and on until something horrible happens. I have watched kids go in wide circles around her and snicker when she screams. The men and the women, they hold each other’s hands now. They never did that before. And they bring bibles with them wherever they go. Everyone is afraid of ROSE the way they are afraid of me, because I am not like them. It makes them want to step on me.

God does not step on me.
​
I remember outside, there was water for me to drink every morning. God put it there for me, little droplets on the grass. I thanked him by drinking it, by choosing to live. I did not pray, but now I pray. I play my violin.
(At the water fountain. ROACH is drinking droplets.)
ABIGAIL: I don’t think Micah really understands.

BETH: Of course. It’s hard, but I’m so glad Rose has a friend.

ABIGAIL: He talks about her all the time.
​
BETH: Rose is always so excited to come to church.
(sound of breathing, like birds finding seeds, like the wind coming in through the window)
ABIGAIL: We’re going to the library today. He said he wants to get a book about flowers, like roses. For Rose.

BETH: (smiling) That’s incredible. (Pause) When we first met, you told me about your older daughter who passed away… what was her name?

ABIGAIL: Grace.
​
BETH: That’s a nice name.
(ABIGAIL nods)
BETH: I’m sorry. Micah must be having a hard time.

ABIGAIL: No, actually.

BETH: oh.

ABIGAIL: It makes it so much harder – he doesn’t seem to care, but he did…

He did tell me that Rose is just like Grace.
 
MICAH and ROSE throw a fit at the same time and everybody stares.

MICAH is screaming Leviticus 19:28, and ROSE is screaming ahhh aha aaaaah ah!

I cannot scream with them, so I play my violin. (Not angrily, for fear of breaking the strings. I play quietly as always. God still hears me every time.)
​
MICAH’s shirt is so stretched out from all of his pulling at it.
+ + + +
 
(Wednesday. MICAH throws folded up paper at ROSE)
ABIGAIL: Micah! Be gentle!
​
MICAH: Rose, these are flower drawings that my sister drew. None of them are roses. She thought roses sucked. She liked zinnias. Zinnias are members of the daisy family. They are long-stemmed and bloom in a variety of bright colors. But here (holds out a piece of paper) I drew a rose for you. 
(ROSE stares ahead)
MICAH: I drew a rose for you. Rose, it’s for you. Rose, take it. Take it. Take it! Rose!

ABIGAIL: Micah, calm down, it’s okay. Give it to Mrs. Beth.
​
MICAH: No! It’s for Rose! Rose, take it! It’s for you!
 
Outside, I saw flowers so unlike the ones in here. They breathed such sweet-smelling breath. They smiled such lovely smiles. The flowers GRACE drew, they were the ones outside. MICAH’s flowers, he puts them in boxy vases with water at the bottom. He holds onto his pencil so hard. I have seen him drawing as PASTOR PAUL speaks. He draws in straight and certain lines, with his tongue between his teeth so tight it must hurt, and when people tap him he doesn’t look up. 

(Many years ago. 10:00. end of service. everyone was leaving.)
​ANDREW: Micah. 
(MICAH sat, drawing. GRACE watched.)
ANDREW: Micah, Grace, come on. Time to go.

GRACE (to MICAH): That’s good. A little more rounded.

ANDREW: Micah! It’s time to go!
​
GRACE: Dad, shut up! He’s drawing.
(OLD LADIES looked their way. ANDREW turned red)
ANDREW: You do not speak to me that way! (grabbed MICAH and GRACE) We’re leaving now.
​
GRACE: He’s almost done! Get off us!
(MICAH went crazy like a fish like a bug stuck to tape. he stabbed ANDREW with his pencil. ANDREW cursed and GRACE smiled.)
GRACE (picked up MICAH’s paper from where it fell): This is your best flower yet, Micah. It’s as good as mine are.
 

It’s getting so sunny outside of the window.
The stained glass cuts all that apart.
I play my violin, quiet and curious.
I know all the music by heart.
ROSE sings with me
With distant eyes
And I learn MICAH’s words.
He talks more every day
​​About the flowers in the dirt.
+ + + +
PASTOR PAUL makes a sermon about Grace. The kind of grace that means forgiveness, or taking things as they come, or letting go, like birds, to let the wind take us scary places. PASTOR PAUL says that god is the greatest agent of grace because he picks us up, our wet wings dripping, and he dries us off and fixes us. He says god is our savior, and I feel the air get tight, and I hear ROSE sing ahh ah ahh, and I know what she is saying – god is not our savior, he is our friend. And I hear MICAH whispering to himself with his finger pressed against the pictures in his flower book, and I feel my wings on my back and I remember what I am.
THE APOCRYPHA
​MAN: Ugh, a roach. Guys, we’ve got a roach over here! 
(ROACH tries shrink smaller. his wings are too big.)
​ANDREW: I’ll handle it. Hey, Micah!
(MICAH is telling ROSE about flowers)
ANDREW: Micah! There’s a roach over there. We’ve got to get these tables ready. Just step on it real quick for us.

​MICAH: That would be murder.
(the MEN laugh)​
ANDREW: It’s a bug, buddy.

MICAH: That would be murder. ‘Thou shall not kill”. The sixth commandment. Exodus 20:13. (stares at his flower book)

ANDREW: Micah, I need you to handle the roach. We’ll be in the other room.
           
Micah gets up after a few minutes. He leaves his book in ROSE’s lap. I know that he is not going to kill me.

There you are. He says. I’m not going to step on you.

He takes me in his hands, afraid I might break, and he carries me through a long hallway.

I stand in the salty sweat of his palms. I have never felt closer to god.

                                               He takes me to the place outside of the window.

                                                                            I have never felt closer to god.
                     There are tall, tall trees and a ceiling so high it is hardly a ceiling at all.
There are so many blades of grass, even more than I remember.

And sound of water. Ah ahhh ahhhh.
​
And I hear bugs breathing. Breathing like I do.
(MICAH puts ROACH on the grass, still wet with dew)
MICAH: I’ll name you Esau. It comes from my favorite bible story. (pause. he looks around, like windows breaking, like a snake coming out from its skin) Actually, I’ll name you Aster. That’s the name of a flower. It’s a perennial.
​
Grace didn’t like perennials. 
(rips grass from the ground, and the dirt comes with it.)
​I kind of wish Grace was alive.

(Two weeks before GRACE died, second pew from the back, everyone else in the dining room having coffee and donuts)
​GRACE: Micah, how do you get god to forgive you?
(MICAH looked down at his bible)
GRACE: Hey, Micah. Micah!

MICAH: I heard you. He isn’t going to forgive you. You have sinned and sinned. You just yelled curse words at mom and dad, how do you expect him to forgive you?

GRACE: (sighed, like a butterfly folding up its wings and retreating into its cocoon) but how do I try?

MICAH: Maybe you should draw more flowers. If I were god, I would forgive you because I like your flower drawings, but I’m not god.

GRACE: So you forgive me?

MICAH: Yes, but I’m not god, so it doesn’t matter. You’re still going to hell.
​
GRACE: It does matter. To me. You’re better than god – at least you follow all your own rules.
(MICAH opened to one of his bookmarks)
GRACE: Micah?

MICAH: I heard you.
 
 
The trees stand strong and deep and still. The sunlight warms my blood.

I hear the worms beneath me, making happy homes of mud.

I forgot my violin, but this grass is so soft.
​
All of this breathing is music enough.
About the Author

Sophie Braxton lives in Decatur, Georgia where she works and writes.

About the Work

"I wrote this story when I was sixteen. I chose to write from the perspective of a cockroach because it is easier than writing from the perspective of a human because nobody can tell you that you have done it wrong. Every time I write about a child like the one I was, people say “this is a very poignant story about a child with autism,” so I decided that the children in the story should just be autistic. They were absolute joys to write about. I don’t mean to express any political or theological message or any message at all. In the past, people have insinuated that I like to "express myself" and I have been slightly offended because it is not myself I intend to express.

Thank you."
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