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An Informal Apology to God and My Parents

I am fractured

-in the stained-glass sense

-in the sense that crystallized color

Could be a medium/ for lists of gratuitous sins.

I am a ship

-in the sense of Theseus and the infamous question

-in the sense that my state of being exists in paradox

To my origin.

And I am the fruit of the Tree of Good and Evil

-in the sense that apologetic isn’t listed among the fruits of the spirit,

-and the seeds I sprouted from fell

Very far, from the tree.

I am made of:

“Mom, Dad…I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry that I would let knowledge like ambrosia

Drip down my chin.

That I would finally find a reflection of myself

In her lips;

That I would die, between her hips-

And rise again on the third day,

Arms stretched wide – already ready to be crucified.

But-

Wait. I’m sorry that is backwards.

The resurrection is supposed to come after

The death sentence but,

The pulpit says I am a reversion of nature.

So, I play from end to beginning,

-Which is why I’m left here hanging

-Gripping exposition and Ending-

Alpha and Omega;

“Have you, forsaken me?”

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