on the highest shelf
of the tallest bookcase
they sit
not making a sound
as if the dust has forced shut their mouths
the last time I went home
she had bought me another one
different from the rest
yet still screaming the same message
that I've tried for five years to stifle
each time her eyes shine with hope
like polished silver crosses
that I'll accept the things she's come to believe
without realizing
what my resignation really means
I don't speak when the book is dropped into my lap
casually
as if she just found it lying around
and thought I might give it a read
she hides the deliberateness of her actions
as I hide my rage at her persistence
i nod my head
skim the title
the table of contents
the pseudo-mission statement on the first page
"we believe in one God
maker of heaven and earth�"
and as soon as she leaves the room
i snap shut the cover
without thinking
without the anger I felt
the first couple of times this happened
my twelfth "new edition" bible
my twelfth gift
my twelfth reminder that my parents fundamentally disagree
with who i am