Articles Available Online

Forgive me Sister for I have sinned it’s been seconds since my last confession I sit in the dark accounting compassion Shamefully small change, in these damn tills Recently, I admit, things have dwindled – a tall glass of vermouth, a tin of oysters, a priest that rinses me of wrongness even though I haven’t even the grace to believe It’s not enough, I agree Please understand I am looking for a church where there is no God, there is often holiness within us, needy for its own blessèd house, undo the damage Softly now with your sermon, I am weary Sanctitude, solitude, it’s all language – let them speak so we might overhear them hidden in the vegetation, hostile and hopeful with ancient weapons Let me pay my respects to the gentle-hearted companions If I so desire it Let me pay in faltering litany – ‘O, what did you expect from your life?’ etc Let me set the table with good silver Let me inquire into the navy shoes traipsing through Let me throw open the doors The garden is blooming with news! We must diminish our sap, our sappiness, our sickness, it is ivy, it is stuck to our souls Older, now, I know how pleasure’s finances are a matter of balance How malice can accrue Careless daughter you are you could say I did not pay attention to what I allowed my life, but the truth is, I would allow it, gladly, even now Purposefully, I carried blue tidings (not my own), and when they were taken from me, it was cruel To be so alone with one’s cold papers The shady conservatory The eaves Hard to record this, but why not be faithful in one ledger at least? There are holes in my accounts, and I warned you of this Holes in what I held myself to account for Holes in my red capabilities We women of red We red women Red behind the ears Be still with your redness Please go on Relieving how, years later, I can place an apricot on a scale, and weigh a small blue object against it I can see it is only a tidy fruit of difficulty – manageable! I can divide it, I can lay it on a plate for my sisters, and ask them to eat it on my behalf, and they would do it Just like that Isn’t that the miraculous duty of love? Why must we continue this troubling