Cindy’S Confession 1977.

Bless me Father
For I have sinned,
You said, but couldn’t get
The rest of the words
From your mouth

Or from your head.
Sinned the priest
And you, not this one,
Some other, a friend
Of your mother

Who’d taken you
For your first confession
As a young girl
(That incense smell
Lingered still) and spoke

So soft and deep
And you unaware
That his hand crept
On your thigh
And up your dress

(God how your mind
Was in a mess,
The memory wouldn’t go)
Until he touched you
Where, your mother said,

It was a sinful place
If boys felt
Or you let feel
(You could hear
Her words still)

And there he stroked
And poked and made you
Silent and made you numb.
Your sin was in
The not telling,

In your silence,
Your conscience whispered
As you gazed at the grille
Where the priest sat
In silence still

(Not that poking priest,
But some other)
And you could only mutter,
Bless me Father
(Don’t’ feel me)

Forgive me please
As you stared
At your urine soaked
Bended knees.