Postlapsarian, we
carry in pockets, the
lumps of perceived iniquities
which,
distract us from
our actual guilt.
The impure loin or
purloined pear or
Pearl conceived by Hester
can
weight us down, or further tempt
the casting of first stones.
My fault, my fault, my
grievous fault with
focus on the my,
makes
my neighbor just a witness
to the tragedy of I,
and I a witness to
nothing that concerns
the eyes of the Almighty
should
we ever learn of one
who this time might be there.
Destitution, squalor,
penury, affliction
of the heart and mind.
There’s
not even omission when
living with lacunae.
Ignoring need needs
seeing need, as something
even grievous.
When
there’s no intention, does it
even count as sin
to let the parent give a son
away for hunger?
Would it ever even cross our mind
that
such a thing
was happening
with such focus on our own
misdeeds, and our shortcomings?
The shame keeps aimed
upon
ourselves, the spotlight;
blinding us to actual hells
on earth while we fret
upon the bye and bye.
Nearby, someone’s damaged
though
we don’t think to think of it,
as we tend to the offense,
of some fetid peccadillo.
