CONFESSION

SATURDAY
DOORS

Of all the happy
Saturdays
Of all my happy
Life

Confessions in the
Afternoons
Were best for
Cutting strife.

Upon my head
A beanie
Or sometimes
Chapel veil

In summer’s heat
Tar-bubbled street
I’d run
Like wind in gale.

Holy water font
Into, my fingers dip
Made the sign of the Cross
So careful not to drip

Dark and cool and quiet
One red rose candle lit
And in the corners’ cornices
My soul saw Angels sit.

For they were there to help me
Come face to face with self
With poor man’s free psychologist
The Priest, behind dark shelf.

It wasn’t always easy
But always was absolved
And light with grace, back to the race
To live His Word, resolved.

And at this very moment
Saturday doors are there, no locks –
A place of virtual reality
The Sacramental Confessional box!