Counting on the Cone of Silence
by John M. Davis

The window broken, for the second time,
Ronny and I are in line to count our blessings.

This is a stained glass window, Father explains.

He is red and redder. Wrathful, I think.
Still looking for truth in the eyes of children.

You need to play baseball somewhere else.

In the back of my head,
I hear Sister Mary Elizabeth,
Witness the errors of your ways,
Whatever exactly that means.

So, here I stand,
in His image and light:
It is a picture of Jesus hanging in the window,
As he did on Calvary so many years ago.
Two thieves, and the Sacred Heart lanced by me.

I see light bleeding through the hole.

I confess to Almighty God, I said,
And to you Father.
It's been two days since my last confession.
This is my sin.

Illya's Honey Literary Journal

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