who would?
you roamed the motel room, examining the cheap mass-produced print above the bed,
fingering the complimentary pad and pencil,
turning the flat waxy soap over in your hand.
in your periphery, it was there hanging in the closet always,
but you took your time.
eased over there slowly because you knew better
until you didn't anymore.
until you made your way over the moldy carpet
to the alcove and rod,
not even a closet.
unzipped the hanging garment bag slowly.
it was dark and small in there, nowhere your soul would choose
until it did.
until your soul got so small and quiet you forgot the difference between the dark and the light
and after awhile,
in the bag seemed the same as out of it.
a toe in, a hand next...
submit trust crucify the flesh no one is good not one your heart is deceitful above all things your body is not your own the man is the head he knows what is best you can teach children and peers learn in quiet be busy at home be respectful it's all counterintuitive which is how you know it's right the world has it wrong so go against every hunch you are sin you are sin you are sin
and then you were in...deep in the lies.
someone zipped it up, maybe it was you.
maybe it wasn't.
maybe it wasn't even zipped and you could see out the entire time but your eyes were closed
yet, even in the dark, you began to write your way out.
you scratched and wrote til the pencil shone the tiniest flame on its point,
ignited the paper as you figured and wrote,
you wrote for Elizabeth who lost that baby,
you wrote for Christy who lost her will,
you wrote for Jes who lost and lost more,
and you wrote for Stacey who hoped always,
and eventually pat said, "you write for everyone but you."
so you wrote for you.
you wrote so hard you didn't feel the movement,
being carried on the shoulders of the light and your mother
and your father and sister,
you just kept writing
and they said Don't stop. We're here, but we can't do it for you. write, honey, write
you're so very close.
the pencil got shorter til it was nothing but a nub, then a final mark.
it was finished.
and when there was nothing left to write, you looked up from the paper,
and saw how dark it was in there.
you reached one finger and thumb to find the zipper - you were right after all - it had been closed.
you eased it down with a satisfying sound,
a right hand then a left on each side of the bag, spreading it open to peer out.
there was green,
there was gold,
and your favorite shade of blue.
the birds cheeped a welcome, they'd waited so long for you.
the room was gone,
stepping one bare set of toes for the green grass,
a long ivory leg followed.
you didn't even squint in the bright light,
you were made for it and of it.
the warm ground met your first step and next.
you were home.
escaping bad religion
you didn't step in all at once.