Confessional

Sobbing

at sticky kitchen counter,

I reach for the notepad

beside the thick answering machine.

Scrounging through drawers

filled with junk,

I find a pen that coughs and

struggles to put forth ink,

words dive onto paper

as if my life depends on it:

My housemates come home late

from a party to find

me kneeling in the living room,

the zealous preacher on TV

talking about

salt and light and hope!

I ignore their whispers,

continue nodding,

one arm raised in the air

answering, “Amen!”

Crystal pats my head,

tells me I missed one hell

of a night.

I laugh but don’t say

I could say the same.