the voices are scared but the brush is familiar and I paint my mind on a canvas. When I am done the angels
come and look and tell me it is beautiful.
I almost believe them.
Rosemary, they tell me. You forgot about rosemary. And they show me pictures of the sky in May over oceans
and parks so green green green it makes me cry. The world is beautiful, they tell me. Remember? Don’t you
remember?
And this time, I think I do.
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Cauldron Anthology