by J.F. Pringle
She tried to ask,
They shut her up.
Questions are for the apostate.
Now positioned to hear things clearly,
A tender heart is best for listening.
Adoration, a quiet assembly.
The noise of silence broke her.
His voice at the center.
It’s Me again, He said.
Her purpose in a letter.
One day she’ll know,
Until then, these things she’ll remember.