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Why They Used to Preach in Latin
by Eli Skipp
Five a.m. and she's Catholic because she's Guilty.
The air comes on and she is engulfed in chill,
Unsavory,
Aching with the weight of unholy ugliness
And too much extra fat.
She sparks the light to pray by the window,
But to no avail.
It is this, during the nighttime, that I am offered to the throes of sleep and half-sleep,
Miles away and eons closer,
Downing unlabelled pretenses and faking lucidity,
That I am lost.
Six a.m. and she cannot sleep for the cracks in her blinds,
The sheets have slipped from her bed and she curls around misjudgements,
Preconceptions,
Faulty by default, man-made,
Stubborn as a mule
And malleable as torched steel.
It is this, during the early morning, that I am discomforted by inhibitions and exhibitions,
Desperately blinded and likewise unfeeling,
That my roommate barks in her sleep,
And undoes my fears.
And this is something unbeknowst,
Incomprehensible.
How am I supposed to feel about this prime example of God?
I am Godly and Godless and
Seven a.m.
And she disguises in Sunday dresses in a mirror under a crucifix
And she has all the answers,
But it doesn't quell a thing.
06/16/2006 Author's Note: A desperate attempt to write through writer's block.
Posted on 06/17/2006
Copyright © 2024 Eli Skipp
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Vere Mantratriad on 06/21/06 at 04:16 AM Sometimes you just have to write it out. I think this is excellent. |
| Posted by Tracy Ellen on 07/20/06 at 01:26 PM Something about those wee hours of the morning that bring insecurity, vulnerability, even fear... and sometimes peace as well. This piece has made me introspective! It’s funny, but the poems I’ve written that people seem to relate to more and enjoy are often the ones I write quickly out of frustration. “It is this, during the early morning, that I am discomforted by inhibitions and exhibitions,” I know that feeling. Like being eaten up from the inside by regret and insecurity. Great poem. |
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