Final Confession
My grandmother flirted with the
priest who visited her at home
each week, about Wednesday,
to hear her confession.
I can’t, in reality, blame her:
my grandfather, nine or ten
years gone; my grandmother,
frank and feisty, a woman who
refused the labels “canner” and
“cutter” despite her knee-length
skirt, her tissues carefully tucked
in her watch’s silver wristband.
Those afternoons, from where I sat
on the stairwell adjacent to the room
where she sat knee-to-knee with the Father,
I saw her, on more than one occasion,
take his hand and demand
Father, I know you’ve told me before,
but tell me again, please,
that I am forgiven.
© 2016 Nicole A Yurcaba
Nicole Yurcaba is a Gothic subculture member, a Ukrainian-American, and an English instructor at Bridgewater College in Bridgewater, VA. Her chapbook Hollow Bottles, which reflects on music and human futility, is available on Amazon.
A wondrous small slice of life (from the stairs) that illuminates our own meanings upon reflection; Well done.