Forgive me father for I have not
cupped your face like the body
of water I once drank from,
nor have I ever desired to
exile myself in your arms. Whose sin
is this anyway, and why
does my tongue bless the roof
of my mouth when I say
the word sin? This is not
even about belief. I know you
are as real as the son
you’ve neglected
to forsake. But I have only you
to worship. You are my father,
and I am as man-made
as any lake in Pennsylvania.
If there is some creed
to this confession,
the miracle is this: one January night,
the ice was so thick
I walked across the Delaware
without fear of falling through it.
Even though the reflection
of the moon had frozen
solid, it was already dissolving
in the mouth of the river.
ERIN JIN MEI O'MALLEY lives in Philadelphia. Their work appears or is forthcoming in Redivider, Wildness, Tinderbox Poetry Journal, Cosmonauts Avenue, and others. They have received a scholarship from the Lambda Literary Foundation and nominations for a Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. You can find them at www.explorationsoferin.com.