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."
(Read on at Ai's website)
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?
