Before confession
(which will happen
in a curtainless bedroom
the last weekend in

I paint my nails
the color of skin
and pretend my
stomach isn’t full
before bed.

The dishwasher groans
in our ground floor
apartment. The timing,
the lighting is beautiful.

I forgot to buy coconut milk
for the morning.
My email has been checked
and rechecked.

There are things I need
to say to God. Thoughts
I don’t know how to get out.
Light leaks out from the bathroom
door, and spills from the lamp
to the floor.

My computer is fully charged.
I need to be up by six.
What chance does prayer
have when I’m tired
and restless like this?

I want to say out loud
where I’m hurting,
and see if the bruises

Thanks and praise be to God,
if I can get off the couch.
I confess I’m not great
at confessing.


About amyleighcutler

Writer, dancer, vagabond extraordinaire
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Confession

  1. zandaltwist says:

    It is a gracious thing to be sure to have a Lord and Saviour who not only understands confession by mouth, but with the inmost groanings that accompany tired early morning prayer mumbles.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s