4/12/12: Metanoia Lost

Metanoia Lost

I talk to God but the sky is empty. –Sylvia Plath, unabridged journals

I speak god-language,
because people die
and god is the tongue of death.

Death stopped time, left me behind
my father with the small pot of raspberry
jam he ate with a spoon.

My story-line is a birth, a death, a tooth-
ache, an infatuation, a drowning,
an affair or perhaps a marriage,

a divorce, a death by fire. It’s not very
different than yours–a flash-memory
in the shower, a bruise without details.

There is no god but God. But
have I ever considered conversion
or even faith? I perished the thought.

There was no metanoia the day
I fell from grace and lost my name on the road.
Lost is an actual place, you know.

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