Nestled in her arms, wrapped in 
pink, tussled sparse brown 
hair, blue eyes, just like hers.

She read her stories, like the one 
about Joseph and his rainbow 
wardrobe or Moses and his magical

talking bush or the one where God 
says to Abraham “take your son, your 
only son, Isaac, whom you love, sacrifice

him there as a burnt offering on one 
of the mountains. Pierce his heart, slice 
his skull in two, set his body on fire.” 

She snapped the book shut and 
looked at her little girl and said “I 
could never, not even for my God.”