eucharist raze the book is dirty gold. inside are secrets and lies from my seven-year-old mind. i was told to surrender my name and replace it with the last one my mother married into. when asked about the sounds i loved, i reached for raindrops. hammers. people talking. i was directed to draw a picture of someone i liked to listen to. i drew myself, glowing green, with four legs and a cat's tail. remember the lord's words, the book said. but the lord never said a thing to me. so i spoke for him. i sketched scenes of violence and reconciliation. a smiling man with a heart in his hand. a blue child baptized by a pink priest. i conjured three stick figures, stood them up beside a brown box, and called them my family. i don't think i drew them holding hands, though i keep wanting to remember them that way. 240404 what's it to you? who go blather from