Forgive me Father
for in this poem
I am trying to be Christian.
To become was the first signal
for these bones to call for break.
In my face, everyone is seeing
my mother. I must prep
for war. I must cover my teeth
in charcoal, bury my face
in mud. The race is never going
to be over. I must transform.
Back in the day, transforming
meant how little
girls would lift off
from the ground
and spin in an elaborate sequence.
Where after the pink backgrounds
burst into animated stars
they would emerge in slow
motion in tiaras and capes,
holding staffs and other priestly
weapons. Everyone everywhere
was always saved. I must defend
myself. In the South
of Vermont, the call for prayer
would ring from my folks’
phones, and I would gather
my neck back into my fur.
Hiding was the only way
for God to seek me. I must
crack every dawn
with a sledgehammer. I must
pray: I will be a good girl,
I will not eat myself
into a pig. Naruto grew up
with an animal inside him
and Sasuke kept losing
his ability to see. All Edward
and Alphonse wanted
was to use alchemy
to bring back the dead,
and I am not hundred percent
confident I would not have done
what Yagami Light did.
Everyone turned out fine.
I think. I did go to a church
once. I am not sure
what kind. A white flake
was put on the tip
of my sour tongue,
but in my stead
it was my mother’s mouth
that swallowed down
my crimes.
