Lizard-red and toothed, a flame
off the burning bush, God’s own
severed tongue, dropped.
I plucked it off the gravel walk,
an ember feather.
It did not scorch.
How like God, I thought, to offer
a jewel just to test
that I’ll settle for less.
Even so, I liked the finder’s custom,
slipped that brilliant blade into
my pocket. Sheathed it.
By Anne-Sophie Olsen
Anne-Sophie Olsen hails from St. Paul, MN and holds an MFA in Creative Writing from Hollins University. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in places such as Birdcoat Quarterly, The Hollins Critic, Dappled Things, and Soul-Lit.