Joelene

Mama said I was acting different.

That I was more fiesty

and mature.

That I stayed in my room

too much.

Played music

too much.

Then she had a problem with my feet

being on Eric’s lap

one movie night.

Papaw didn’t care.

But Mamaw?

“Foot down, gal!”

Let me tell you,

that woman needed to be washed

in the blood of the lamb

more than anyone.

Maybe not more

than me.

Because since that night,

Eric and I had been washing

in so many things.

None of which holy.

I felt guilty at dinner,

at bedtime,

at breakfast.

I felt guilty in the shower

when the impurity oozed out of me

like a bleeding sore.

And that sore got worse

on Sundays when Mamaw

took me to church.

I always thought that man

with the biggest bible

and offering plate

would see through me.

“No fornication!

Obey thy parents!”

One bible study,

I was sure he’d found out about me

falling asleep without doing

the dishes one night.

He’d called me up,

saying I was possessed with a nasty spirit.

That there was some lust demon behind me.

He rubbed my head

with consecrated oil.

Pushed his hand against my forehead

with force, eyes shut,

bible against his chest.

And he spoke in that language

Mamaw would speak in at dinner.

And when I went back to my seat,

Mamaw cried and held me

for the longest while.

I felt loved. But she still said:

“girl, I will fuck you up!”

as soon as we got home.

Mamaw needed a trip

to the altar herself.

But that aside,

I’d been sitting in my hammock,

staring up at sky,

munching on baked cookies

with a book on my chest quite often.

It helped me to take care of the guilt

in the daytime,

and at night,

I knew,

I’d sin again.

Because even Eve couldn’t resist

the forbidden fruit.

Even she couldn’t deny

the tempting serpent.