A Cardinal Sin
I’d best describe myself
today
as a submarine catholic
but fifty years ago
well after my baptism
my first holy communion
& my confirmation
i would have likely said –
practising catholic
most friday nights back then
i’d find myself with Father
kneeling before him
on the carpeted step of the
confessional box
my little red face
pressed upwards to the grille
& even with that flimsy black
fabric shrouding the grille
i knew that he knew
who i was
as much as he knew
that i knew who he was
& after he’d dissolved a few
easy one’s like i swore
(he never asked what
particular words i’d used)
& after i’d admitted
i’ve been rude to my mother
(he never asked what
my behaviour had been)
& after i’d mumbled
i missed mass last Sunday
(he never asked
if i’d been to mid-week mass)
but always after i’d told him
i’ve had obscene thoughts again
he questioned me at length –
& lingered over this . . .
wanting to know each
& every detail
& by george
i think i’ve finally
worked out why.
– Geoff Goodfellow
Father Tom
Or here’s a small story that isn’t small at all.
An old friend of mine who is now a chaplain
Didn’t get along with his dad too well when
My buddy was a teenager. His dad was hard
And my buddy was hard-headed, is one way
To explain it. One winter night they get into
It big-time, shouting and smashing furniture,
Almost but not quite exchanging serious fist.
Something keeps them from the final frontier,
As my buddy says quietly – God knows what.
A couple days later the dad has a heart attack,
And dies in the kitchen right by the dog bowl.
That was forty years ago, man, says the priest.
Forty years of me thinking maybe I killed dad.
No matter how many times my mom and sister
Said I didn’t I couldn’t stop wondering if I did.
Who knows why a guy becomes a priest? Man,
Whatever reason you say isn’t a reason enough.
One great thing about being a priest, though, is
That your ego gets hammered regular. So after
A while I quit wondering about me and started
Remembering him; there were some cool days,
Real good days. Remembering those is praying.
– Brian Doyle
The Dark Box
The queue before the Mass dwindles,
the Dark Box opens empty.
Ready am I, a-confession-to-make.
Fumbling the 'Bless me Father I have sinned' bit,
envying the confidence of penitents quick
to the point, rolling off instances of pride, gluttony,
betrayal, illicit sex. Sex, mostly, you would expect,
our Church is preoccupied with that.
Lust for moral destruction is the problem faced,
pared by some measure of atoning grace.
I have mortally sinned many times
whisper chimed, never getting the words off pat.
The confessional exchange begins apace
in a dimly lit, enclosed space,
where the priest’s barely perceptible face is seen
via grille and sliding screen.
Alone at last, facing my past
in a divided cabinet, a sanctuary,
where sinners in privacy
seek forgiveness, penance, and contrition.
How odd that pride and inhibition
cause resistance to confronting behaviour,
improvement of our inner nature,
through intercession with the Creator.
There is relief, quietly sharing transgressions,
unburdening guilty oppression
buoyed by principles to respect,
and the discretion you expect.
– Michael Easson
Geoff Goodfellow's most recent poetry collection is Opening the Windows to Catch the Sea Breeze: selected poems 1983 - 2011 (Wakefield Press 2014).
Brian Doyle is editor of the Portland Journal in Oregon.
Michael Easson was active in? the Australian trade union movement and is now pursuing a career in property investment management.
Submarine image by Shutterstock.