The Sin Eater (poem)

The Sin Eater

Together we sat on the confessional bench
listening to the clicking of heels on mosaic tiles,
awaiting the queue to die.

A lady who lived in god’s house,
watched us girls with her salmon eye,
every move we made.

Whispered penances festooned the lofty chapel,
orderly shuffling from oldies denoted,
our turn now, our sins would be eaten.

The gridded partition creaked like old knuckles.
I almost forgot ‘bless me father’ as my
knees located a softer spot on the floor.

Beads sang in A distracting manner.
Father Browns pressing vowels, asked after my sins,
my soul now white, I returned to the bench.