1.
Like every four-year-old
Catholic-Baptist-Methodist,
I drank my grapejuice
before the blessing.
2.
I can never remember
if I have really been baptized.
There are silvered dreams
of a man holding me under,
holding me under,
forgetting his words.
3.
My mother searched
for the right church
instead of religion.
It was a race with crosses
as batons, and I
dropped mine entirely.
4.
One pastor was
a bigot, one priest
uninspired. One church
an ugly paint job.
5.
Father was a pagan
who found God his own
unspiritual way. I took all
my best qualities from him;
all my worst, too.
Author notes
Option 5. Not mythological, but not bashing or promoting either.
I love religion in a distant, impersonal way. It is beautiful and I envy those who feel that level of devotion, but it's not for me.
A contest entry
- G is for... by Pandorea.
700 points, ended August 6, 2008, 7 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
-
interesting. i like it...how it's so unique to your perspective. nicely written too.
thanks for entering.
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