The bones of my feet creak
and moan -- heavy steps
laden with yesterday's burdens
bring me to you
I lean over the bed
avoiding eye contact --
shame lingers on my clothes
cigarettes and cheap gin mingle
with her perfume -- your sigh
closes in on my neck, squeezes
the air from my lungs
I touch your arm --
a need for absolution snakes down
my wrist to your fingers, and seeks
to curl them into mine
As if on fire, you jerk your hand away
and my bones crumble to the floor
I know the road to forgiveness
have traveled it like a con artist --
You are priest and Mother Mary
and you will weigh each of my sins--
I descend into my private hell
dredge up every detail of unfaithfulness
I lift my head and stare into coal eyes
There is no pity in those pits this time
I rise from the floor, stand before you
hands fidget, knees quiver --
Your words are a whip across my back
fifty lashes, 'til blood rivers across the room
Your tears salt my wounds -- an agony
no less than the wounds I gave you --
There will be no redemption, not this time
©2014 Lori Carlson. All Rights Reserved.