The Priest's Confession - A Poem

My neighbor Mark shared the work below by Ai, a poet working in Cambridge and her musings on religion, betrayal and obsession. Below is the first section of a very long and disturbing poem entitled, "The Priest's Confession."

I didn’t say mass this morning.

I stood in the bell tower

and watched Rosamund, the orphan,

chase butterflies, her laughter

rising, slamming into me,

while the almond scent of her body

wrapped around my neck

like a noose.

Let me go, I told her once,

you’ll have to let me go,

but she held on.

She was twelve.

She annoyed me,

lying in her little bed—

tell me a story, Father.

I carried her into my room—

the crucifix, the bare white walls.

While she slept, 

she threw the covers back.

her cotton gown was wedged above her thighs.

I nearly touched her.

I prayed for deliverance, but none came.

Later, I broke my rosary.

(Read on at Ai's website)

Father, I can’t sleep. I miss my mother.

Can I sleep with you?