Winter was everything
\nI could not see. Pinecones<\/p>\n
hung perfectly
\nin unison. They could<\/p>\n
not move, could not
\nspeak. I envied<\/p>\n
the compass, the lexicon
\nof the satiable. I saw<\/p>\n
mornings as worthy
\nof trust. I met<\/p>\n
a god who unclamped
\ncoin-sized organs<\/p>\n
as I slept. I dropped
\nnickels into the Sunday<\/p>\n
offering. I knew Him
\nas the simple jingle<\/p>\n
of coins, the sweet
\nruffle of bills. The only<\/p>\n
god inside my body
\nwas a small dart I shot<\/p>\n
into my reflection. I was
\na simple ripple. Every<\/p>\n
afternoon, I sifted
\nnickel from the soil. No<\/p>\n
jingle. No jingle. I didn\u2019t
\ntell anyone<\/p>\n
I liked to sing. Everyday
\nwas morning, and I moved<\/p>\n
and unmoved in belief,
\nshuffled like leaves. I didn\u2019t<\/p>\n
know I could be more
\nthan a season. Spring signaled<\/p>\n
the time to hunt. Sermons began
\nand eventually ended. Slowly<\/p>\n
first and only at night, I began
\nto kiss the men who waited<\/p>\n
patiently in the posters
\non my bedroom wall. One day<\/p>\n
I shot the blind turkey
\nin the backyard. My father<\/p>\n
smiled wider than I thought
\nhe ever could. I drank<\/p>\n
a full canister of river-water
\non a dare. This is how<\/p>\n
I knew Jesus was still
\nthere: the bird<\/p>\n
was dead, my fingernails
\nstained absolution-red. <\/p>\n
Winter was everything I could not see. Pinecones hung perfectly in unison. They could not move, could not speak. I envied the compass, the lexicon of the satiable. I saw mornings as worthy of trust. I met a god who unclamped coin-sized organs as I slept. I dropped nickels into the Sunday offering. I knew […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":354,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"spay_email":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_is_tweetstorm":false},"categories":[47],"tags":[25],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/s6Jypy-dart","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12638"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/354"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=12638"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12638\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":12689,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12638\/revisions\/12689"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=12638"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=12638"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=12638"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}