Confessional

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Mama I thought I’d write to tell you
I don’t believe in Jesus anymore.
I didn’t make myself stop
like the wind does
when you stand behind a tree 
I just have since you left
Because there can’t be a God
that would let you die the way you did. 
But just in case there is I wanted to
confess something since there isn’t
anybody else I’d rather pray to. 
I met a girl and we’ve been doing
everything before marriage
that you said I should wait for after. 
But I never could wait mama. 
When I was nineteen I met this girl
If you’d saw her big eyes mama
you would have thought
of them flour dumpling
you used to role on the counter
before pops got sick 
Guess what Mom.  She was negro.
Don’t go crying up there Mama
because you’ll only make the clouds soggy
and it might make your tears reflect
in everyone’s eyes with all that sun shine. 
She was so small. 
Even though they say them women
are thicker than us
she had some small breasts and thin legs 
She was real shy but when she got naked
all she did was cover her top and the
hair down there was so dark
that we wouldn’t have been able
to use any lights. 
Even the stars had turned off. 
And even though it was so long ago
like them records uncle used to play
and even though I got a woman I’m faithful to
I can’t help to remember that first night.
Because we clamped together
like clothes pins mamma
and her touch felt like cotton candy
that still stuck to my finger 
Like someone digging for gold
even though nothing came out.  

Kevin Franklin