God’s hand slices through the sweaty summer air, stuffs dollars in a plastic cup and smooths wet, matted hair— tender and then gone. Did anyone else see that? There it is again— God’s hand punches a hole in daylight, cups a couple cheeks, pets a dog and waves at me —at me?
Yanking the Veil
God’s hand slices through the sweaty summer air, stuffs dollars in a plastic cup and smooths wet, matted hair— tender and then gone. Did anyone else see that? There it is again— God’s hand punches a hole in daylight, cups a couple cheeks, pets a dog and waves at me —at me?