Septemus 4

Dear Sept,

I’m so glad you like the dolls I got for you.

I had to search all over town to find the one with blue skin.

“Here you go,” I said when I handed her to you. “Bizaabgotojo.”

“Bizaabgotojo,” you said. “Oooh, squeegeee.”


I played with the brown-skinned doll.

It was fun listening to you humming. Your little song told the story of a day–all the moods of waking and cooking and cleaning and playing.


Your song stopped and you turned to me.

“Bizaabgotojo?” you said, handing me the blue-skinned doll.

You looked at the brown-skinned doll in my other hand and smiled. I gave it to you.

“Sebastion!” you said. You said my name. And you snuggled the brown-skinned doll close to you, laughing like a tiny cave river, sparkling in the moonlight.


“Sebation ista moostomi bizaabgotojo,” you said. And you smiled and I felt something split wide open inside me. And I don’t think I will ever be the same again.


Your bizaabgotojo,


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