On a midnight drive, we passed by the hand-painted sign, standing on the lot where the old Lutheran church used to be. You asked me about my faith and I found I could give you no sufficient answer. “Tell me,” you pried, “do you imagine His hands nail-scarred, or shaking?”
Karlie Taylor is a writer and a high school English teacher. Her work is published on various online platforms.
Blood from the cross is dripping into the sky and the air smells of wild onions. It is Sunday and inside the church house they’re discussing taking the “united” out of our Methodist name. The stained-glass windows are nearly shattering and the God of sunsets watches from the back row.
Karlie Taylor is a writer and a high school English teacher. Her work is published on various online platforms.
The rugged stone face sneers overhead, eyes fixed on a distant point, perhaps a different time. Covered in cracks, its chipped body dwarfs me and in a sense, it is mighty, but no mightier than I. My flesh is living, breathing, uncracked. Able to turn and go, I do.
Karlie Taylor is a recent graduate of the University of Illinois, Urbana-Champaign. She holds a bachelor’s in English and currently works as a substitute teacher.