I Ask Forgiveness
- May 21, 2021
- 2 min read
by Lorrie Ness
for the way I whispered fuck you instead of amen.
and for the way I wanted to, but never did, say it loud enough for anyone to hear.
because every mole must hide because some moles lose their nails digging and others surface clean fingered but choking
for thinking god fucked his son with a childhood. and jesus fucked us all with his example. and nobody fucked poor mary except they did.
because every daughter is an echo and every echo is a sound borrowed from its maker.
here, a nativity in stained glass is backlit by a votive, is committing sins of omission.
i go on wanting its colors to show manure below the crib. blood, red as cherries, stippling the straw.
here is a nativity that tells a story of god as a brood parasite like the cowbird & the cuckoo and joseph as a tool.
i put coins in the box. put a match to the wick. because every mole must be smoked out.
dropping to my knees is the way my own body echoes.
Yesterday i counted all the way to seven with my finger in the flame. this blister is the shape of penance.
one…two…three… the skin won’t burn until its water is boiled away.
Lorrie Ness is a poet working in Virginia. Her work can be found at Palette Poetry, THRUSH Poetry Journal, Typishly and various other journals. She was twice nominated for a Best of the Net Award by Sky Island Journal and she was a featured poet at Turtle Island Quarterly in 2021. Her chapbook, Anatomy of a Wound, is forthcoming from Flowstone Press.
