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Poem

I survived scarred but 
unscathed growing up Irish 
catholic. 
Mind numbing Masses  sung in 
Latin 
Ostentatious Corpus Christy 
processions through local 
streets
Ornately dressed priests
Eyes to the skies, garbage 
underfoot
Fair game for taunting 
classmates armed with cutting 
quips 
abstinence during Lent
weekly confession that 
required creative thinking to 
minimize mortal sins
further ingenuity required to 
pass off venial sins 
to fill the quota on weeks when 
you were good, 
But it was the redemption 
through suffering
or straight to hell in a hand 
basket that crippled. 
The collateral damage of 
inherited weaknesses? 
An act of contrition, three Hail 
Mary's and an Our Father 

To survive
"I have had to deny knowledge 
in order to leave room for 
faith."  
Fascinating for it's simplicity 
and heavy dose of reality. 
It helped with my struggle to 
understand 
what others appear to see so 
clearly.  
And yet despite this cross 
connection the majority of my 
actions 
are calibrated against my 
religious upbringing. 
A voice, my own, my mother's, 
echoes from statues, holy wells 
and saints 
that continue to haunt my past 
and dissect my actions  

I am a reluctant Catholic. 
It is part of my DNA. 
Early on I  found out how hard 
it was not to conform 
when I began to swim against 
the tide. 
Lifelines were few 
while responses took the form 
of it is just a phase, 
Have him have a chat with the 
priest. 
The alienation was akin to Irish 
tee totalers 
welcome, yet removed from 
the nexus of Irish society, the 
pub

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