In the cover of dark she walked, a shadow of the rose, into the room of blue, she wore mother of pearl, a dress three inches below the knee as it should be, and a head cover to keep the sons rays from seeing her. Over her plain dress of burgundy wine three inches blow her knees, a cardigan sweater of solid pearl, at her feet petals of death shimmering behind patent leather.
The room was expansive, but not in size, in ideas, except they all seemed to reach in to nothing. Looking down the room was all shades of blue, and somehow none of it recalled an open sky space. There was no beauty in the air, not the place before God, not one thing old to hold, nothing handmade, and it seemed none of it was borrowed but perhaps a word or two. There was no Glory to God in the most High, it was me, me, me, what's my identity, except for a few of Gods Good children strewn in for hue. She moved through the crowd and whispered here and there, they couldn't see her but she was duty bound dressed, in her A class uniform.
The old witch crow looked around and saw women of all class, season, and manner, the creed undercover was not hard to decree, the discernment around her was not to deep. blatant blasphemy Something fake was going on in front of her a show that poked at her like the other end of a feather that might tickle too.
When she arrived in the secret garden
she removed her head cover
dawned her Laurel May Wreath
weaved by her mother's gift
flowers upon her head
at her feet petals of death
shimmering behind patent leather
Forgive the trespass,
and you best hope God our Father delivers you from evil
and never leads you into temptation
She is the left hand of God
Air Attache from the heavens above
Gia Cardi
a name so old
it was Gardi
Did people forget you should feel insignificant before God
you
are
completely
replaceable
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