I clasp the hands
of Father Pasquerel
as I unburden my heart.
Nothing I say to him
can be revealed to another.
That is the blessing and purpose
of holy confession.
Before I go to war,
even though God has assured
me I will not die in Orléans,
I need to clear my soul
of all I do not easily admit.
I bow my head, cross myself,
and admit that I fear
I may be leading my country
to great destruction.
I confess that I am afraid
to enter battle,
that I fear the sight
of men butchering men;
and I worry that
if I do not kill our enemy,
and I cannot kill anyone,
my soldiers will abandon me.
What if I reach the battlefield,
scream like a child,
and run away in fear?
What if I fall off my horse?
There are moments
I still fear that I am merely a girl,
and not La Pucelle,
that there is no La Pucelle,
and I may fail to do
what God asks of me.
I ask forgiveness
for my sins and doubts
and pray that with God’s aid
I may persevere.