Paris At 51
Paris at 51
Bless me Father for I have sinned
it has been forty years since my last confession.
My life Hell, I seek Heaven. I ran
away from home at eleven. Sold my body.
Fell to drugs. I now pray for direction.
The roots of my tree carry branches that
are bare. God sent me to his orchard
to bear fruit,pollinate, to nurture life and
subsist,not be His vice and burden. On
these streets outside this church, I have
sinned. I have sold my body to eat
and gain shelter off the streets. The first
time it was so cold, a warm voice
was a refuge. Since that day I fell,
my young spirit broken, into the cesspool
of life. I ran.From fear,life,mom,
pimps. I sit before you, father, in this
cubicle, separated by a black screen and curtain
and take these masks off. What you see
is an eleven year old, fresh, full of
life in her mom's bosom, cuddled and loved.
With so much to look forward to .. bunny hops,
Bobby Sox, boys.. that never grew up. Or
blossomed.I cry at how I wasted life.
I hurt mom, and myself. I kneel and
pray before you, Father. "Child, I see the
tears in your eyes, hear the sincerity in
your voice and sense your loss, as if your entire
life has been an bereavement. I empathized," believe
me. "Life is a mystery, it has trigger
points, forks in the road, even a loss
of parent, for example, can be traumatic to
a young child." Pools of tears run down
my eyes. Every word the priest said is
true, as I stare ... off into the past,
regressing of the nights of sleeping with
many of the men. Taking this pie money,
giving half to big daddy, and the other
half to crack and ... a continuous cycle, intoxicating
and addicting, where fear lurked in of being
beaten by big daddy if his slice of
the pie was small. My attention snapped back.
"Child, go now, God will be your shepherd,"
He prayed. " Please be healing, repenting for your
salvation." I got up and left, thank you
father. A voice in my head said Paris,
is finally going to Paris, my pet phrase,
because I always joke it will never happen
to me because I don't have the deliverance
and cleansing. But maybe now with God being
my shepherd. I exit the rows of pews,
with other parishioners giving me the kind of look
"of why did you take so long." If
they only knew. I walk out of the church,
into the Seattle night, streets. I see young
girls selling, a flash back to forty years
ago. I keep walking towards home, my partner,
Sandy Laffe, aka tree sap, from the hotel.
connie pachecho
1/4/16
Copyright © Connie Pachecho | Year Posted 2017
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