To a claustrophobic, the confessional <br />was penance enough, she thought - <br />an upended coffin filled with rotting sins <br />and little more. <br /> <br />Fear’s dark clarity honed her senses; <br />she smelled the sweat of true believers, <br />the arrogance of hypocrites and <br />the heartbeat on the other side <br />of the little door, dull <br />and disinterested, waiting <br />for something more. <br /> <br />She thought then of a Sexton poem – <br />a dragonfly’s unapologetic un-apology, <br />and grinned. <br /> <br />“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned, ” <br />she would begin, knowing <br />without hesitation, that she <br />would do so <br />again.<br /><br />Christine Austin Cole<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/confession-16/
