On Grandma Thora's Farm

I hide in Grandma Thora's room. A velvet and wood reserve, forbidden to children. Grandma's heavy, hunting feet thunder over hardwood floors toward me. Curled up tight- like a snake., praying my thumping chest doesn't climb over her huge scolding voice, and betray my hiding place. Grandma Thora is in cahoots with God- She is as scary as His commanding bible. The book, that I didn't ask for, is my birthday gift. I'm ashamed of my disappointment that stepped into me when I tore off the wrapping paper and found only God's word. King James in leather is not what I want. I carve into the skin-thin title page with a sharp tipped pen, “Damn you! Go to Hell!” God, I'm dead now for sure.