I wrote this poem in September, 2016 as a class exercise. The poem does not expose real confessional content but is based on genuine experience.
Confession
Grief boxes my ears like a schoolyard bully
Sorrows prance and punch like a prizefighter
Ducking and weaving to save himself
Anguish picks on me and teases my soul
These stories shoot toward me with flash and fury
My unprotected heart eavesdrops in the drab confessional
That a heroin addict
Just had sex in the church dumpster
With a man
In exchange for a six-pack
To manage his not-so-secret life for this morning
Until the next hit of dope
The next sucker punch
The narrow, dark spaces and random encounters open truth
My ears turn toward an elderly woman that dares to speak
About the many blows from her seven personalities
Because her mother beat her
Smeared her with feces
Left her silent in a closet
Stuffing her into an early tomb
Cramped spaces stifle life and hush voices
Yet repentant rage explodes from the faithful
I want to fight back
From the complex container of who I am
And the boxed-in notions of what we must become
A story-fire ignites in private spaces
My ears open the confines of my conscience
I enter the dumpster, the closet and the confessional box
Where secret voices of survival confess life at last
Only the Grace of God could hear such stories and “keep it together.” And the trust in Gods Grace to confess such is an inspiration.
I have often wondered about the effect on the priest so the experience of hearing confession. Thank you for the poem.