Poem That Ends with Something Other Than Forgiveness

Imagine a godly comb drawn

through the center of your body

from scalp to toe, trapping all

your shortcomings in its teeth.

Imagine having to inventory

this straggle of spiritual effluvia

- a pretty word for trash -

logging each shameful fact.

Imagine you refuse to do this.

Imagine the pile is a pyre and light it,

feeding it until flames lick the sky,

townsfolk scowling as you dance the edge.

Imagine undressing, stepping in.

Imagine the shock of the heat.

Imagine your red tongue flickering,

asking, Who would I be if I wasn’t afraid?