My paltry sins, the lick of frosting
stolen from my cousin’s birthday cake,
my backtalk, sullen preteen blues,
were washed away one day in 1961,
when I was dunked in a tub of water
in the basement of the Kingdom Hall.
I became a Witness for Jehovah, sold
salvation on the sidewalk. Ten cents for
a pamphlet and a chance at paradise.
I became a circus tiger, trained to pose
on tiny platforms, heed a human voice.
Then one day, a wildness stirred me,
I heard a chuffing in the dusk, sniffed
romance on the trunks of trees, bolted out,
my breath expelled in quick, sharp bursts.
stolen from my cousin’s birthday cake,
my backtalk, sullen preteen blues,
were washed away one day in 1961,
when I was dunked in a tub of water
in the basement of the Kingdom Hall.
I became a Witness for Jehovah, sold
salvation on the sidewalk. Ten cents for
a pamphlet and a chance at paradise.
I became a circus tiger, trained to pose
on tiny platforms, heed a human voice.
Then one day, a wildness stirred me,
I heard a chuffing in the dusk, sniffed
romance on the trunks of trees, bolted out,
my breath expelled in quick, sharp bursts.
