Oh Calls of Damned.

Oh Calls of Damned.

Writing by Sol Jetter

My white gown reflects the blinding sun as I lay in a breathing field. Dark hair is strewn across the grass, entangling itself with the sage roots; the two almost becoming one. I raise my slim arms from the blanketed dirt and pray towards the sky in threes. I do not know who I pray to. I do not know what for. I just know the field will suffocate if I don't. So, I close my eyes, obscuring what I know, and pray to an idea my will condemns.