11-02-2021, 06:10 AM
Please ignore the double spacing. I don't know how to remove it!
Revision 4:
A Kind of Innocence
There was a devout swaying
when dad sidled down the doorstep,
as if god had spat sanctity
into the bow of the breeze. My cheeks
glittered like sequins as he descended
onto the pond-black road in that thin red coat
he wore like skin. When his car coughed
its final puff of smoke, I leaned
on the fence by the barnyard pen,
next to chickens and hogs and unholiness.
I was nine then. I hadn’t yet learned
that there is a kind of innocence gods steal
from those who worship. As dad floated
like a goldfish towards the luster
of the sun’s flaxen rim,
I shut my eyes in prayer.
Revision 3:
Those Who Worship
There was a devout swaying when dad
sidled down the doorstep, as if god had
spat sanctity into the bow of the breeze.
My eyes glittered like sequins as he
descended onto the pond-black road in
that thin red coat he wore like skin.
When his car coughed its final puff of
smoke into the air, I leaned on the boards
of the barnyard pen, next to the chickens
and hogs and unholiness. I was nine
years old then and I hadn’t yet learned
that there is a kind of innocence gods
steal from those who worship. As dad
rattled away, swimming like a goldfish
towards the luster of the sun’s flaxen rim,
I shut my eyes in prayer.
Revision 2:
Those Who Worship
There was a devout swaying when dad
sidled down the doorstep, as if god had coughed
sanctity into the bow of the breeze
and the creak of the threshold
like a bloody tooth. My face glittered like
a diamond as he descend onto
the pond-black road in that thin red coat
he wore like skin. When his car spat its
final puff of ash into the air,
I leaned on the boards of the barnyard
pen, squatting next to the chickens and hogs
and unholiness. I was nine years old then and
I hadn’t yet learned that there is a kind of
innocence gods steal from those who
worship. As dad clattered away,
swimming like a goldfish towards the luster
of the sun’s golden rim, I shut my eyes in prayer.
Original:
Those Who Worship
There was a devout
swaying when dad
strode down the doorstep,
as if god had coughed
sanctity into
the bow of the breeze
and the creak
of the threshold
like a bloody tooth
into a latex glove.
My face glittered like
a sack of opaque gems
as dad descend onto
the pond-black road
in the thin red coat
he wore like skin.
When his car rubbed its
final puff of cigarette
ash into the air,
I leaned on the boards
of the barnyard
pen, squatting next
to the chickens and hogs
and unholiness. I was
nine years old then and
I hadn’t yet learned that
there is a kind of
innocence gods steal
from those who
worship. As dad
clattered away,
swimming like a goldfish
towards the luster
of the sun’s golden rim,
I shut my eyes in prayer.
Revision 4:
A Kind of Innocence
There was a devout swaying
when dad sidled down the doorstep,
as if god had spat sanctity
into the bow of the breeze. My cheeks
glittered like sequins as he descended
onto the pond-black road in that thin red coat
he wore like skin. When his car coughed
its final puff of smoke, I leaned
on the fence by the barnyard pen,
next to chickens and hogs and unholiness.
I was nine then. I hadn’t yet learned
that there is a kind of innocence gods steal
from those who worship. As dad floated
like a goldfish towards the luster
of the sun’s flaxen rim,
I shut my eyes in prayer.
Revision 3:
Those Who Worship
There was a devout swaying when dad
sidled down the doorstep, as if god had
spat sanctity into the bow of the breeze.
My eyes glittered like sequins as he
descended onto the pond-black road in
that thin red coat he wore like skin.
When his car coughed its final puff of
smoke into the air, I leaned on the boards
of the barnyard pen, next to the chickens
and hogs and unholiness. I was nine
years old then and I hadn’t yet learned
that there is a kind of innocence gods
steal from those who worship. As dad
rattled away, swimming like a goldfish
towards the luster of the sun’s flaxen rim,
I shut my eyes in prayer.
Revision 2:
Those Who Worship
There was a devout swaying when dad
sidled down the doorstep, as if god had coughed
sanctity into the bow of the breeze
and the creak of the threshold
like a bloody tooth. My face glittered like
a diamond as he descend onto
the pond-black road in that thin red coat
he wore like skin. When his car spat its
final puff of ash into the air,
I leaned on the boards of the barnyard
pen, squatting next to the chickens and hogs
and unholiness. I was nine years old then and
I hadn’t yet learned that there is a kind of
innocence gods steal from those who
worship. As dad clattered away,
swimming like a goldfish towards the luster
of the sun’s golden rim, I shut my eyes in prayer.
Original:
Those Who Worship
There was a devout
swaying when dad
strode down the doorstep,
as if god had coughed
sanctity into
the bow of the breeze
and the creak
of the threshold
like a bloody tooth
into a latex glove.
My face glittered like
a sack of opaque gems
as dad descend onto
the pond-black road
in the thin red coat
he wore like skin.
When his car rubbed its
final puff of cigarette
ash into the air,
I leaned on the boards
of the barnyard
pen, squatting next
to the chickens and hogs
and unholiness. I was
nine years old then and
I hadn’t yet learned that
there is a kind of
innocence gods steal
from those who
worship. As dad
clattered away,
swimming like a goldfish
towards the luster
of the sun’s golden rim,
I shut my eyes in prayer.