sign of the cross

my kaleidoscope oil cushions

sin colors

jewels

muted

sin angles

mirrored

subtle

 

fingers turn cylinder

towards sunset

I close my booth door

decrepit hasp rattles

 

I know what I’ve done

my mind says it’s

worse than my worst

 

what do I say when after my confession, my

priest remains silent

no penance

prayer

no absolution

 

my no Ash Wednesday forehead

no oil

no cross

© 26 January 2022

Cindy B. Stevens

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