Rebecca J. Allred
The boxcar was their church, a hidden place they went to beg forgiveness and take communion on Sunday. Mommy said she’d found Jesus and showed them his license to prove it. He stared woefully at them from the cross, mumbling words they couldn’t comprehend.
Mommy carved six strips of eucharist and arranged the holy ribbons onto a gilded plate. She filled a golden chalice to overflowing. Two by two the children knelt and accepted their savior; cherubic lips stained with absolution praised his name. Filled with divine light, they wiped their bloody faces and prayed.
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