bless me father for I may have sinned

by Julie Allyn Johnson

bless me father for I may have sinned
sprawled out on the morning deck,
two-tone TREX soaking up some Sunday sun—
I’ll move once I get too hot
or too uncomfortable but for now
I like it here, warmth beneath my body
listening to the starlings battling for suet
in any one of the feeders hanging in the honey locust.
used to be, when I was a young adult,
I’d succumb to guilt and wend my way
to St. James for 10:30 mass.
sometimes, I’d feel better for the effort
but usually, I didn’t. still, I’d been seen
and that was often enough. it was the point,
after all, was it not? I mean, who freely
and enthusiastically sits through all those verses,
the ups, the downs, the kneeling on hard oak planks,
the dry sermons, the Faith of Our Fathers,
the Ave Marias—who does that
when the slow heat of Ra firing through one’s body
feels as good as almost anything, most days even better.