I took a train to the place
where I sinned my worst sins.
Back when God climbed in my belly
and made me sick with guilt
and mommy and daddy
screamed the bible in our ears
then spanked away our spirits.
Still, the old house stands
among the others quietly.
The shed still stacked with firewood
and the grass grey and wispy.
Mommy and daddy prospered,
moved on to bigger houses
and far off cruises.
Left me with the sins I told them
in a fit of illness one evening.
Eight years old,
shuddering with tears,
unaware that young girls
often falter on the path to womanhood.
Sex is not what I once thought it was.
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