WINTER ' FOURTEEN
Penance by Máire Morrissey-Cummins
Hands locked tight
like jigsaw pieces,
knuckles bony white, shine
in waxen light.
Knees knob,
bump along the pew,
her mind riddled with sin.
Blessed and forgiven,
she bows out backwards
into a vacant seat,
mouths her penance
then shudders into a neon noon.
She walks cleansed through coal black streets,
shine of alabaster,
a halo around her head.
She is pure, scrubbed clean,
yet hollow with hunger.
Into the abyss
of curtained darkness,
the murky odour of guilt,
She kneels in the silence.
A purring whisper, hidden
behind a sliding screen,
warm wine breath
penetrates the cubicle.
His rhythmic prayer, soothing,
In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy
Ghost….
she recites her confession.
Her voice falls
like specks of dust
sprinkling the dim light.
She stammers into the latticed grid,
the face of the gates of hell.
The Linnet's Wings Poetry, Winter 2014