Back to Issue 12
I believed in God until it was godless.
Behind me, they say there is a spot of green.
But that is behind me.
Here are three things:
Black above.
White beneath.
Cold.
Before me,
nothing—stretched
and hanged.
By Rebecca Pickard
Rebecca Pickard is a writer and researcher living in Lynchburg, Virginia. Her work has previously appeared in LAMP Magazine and the Sigma Tau Delta Rectangle.