askew, divine will, poem, Poetry, poppet, proper propers, scarred, sonnet, the blues, the gods
Salvation? That honor brought nothing but
the blues, the way the gods use to sing them.
The gods are vast and weep, call us, “poppet,”
and, “doll,” and croon. Certain folk still condemn
the blues as Moloch’s music. Certain folk
are fools. Salvation? Before I learned my
proper propers. Before the neighbors spoke
of me with a sneer. Before first goodbye,
my friends were all, they say, pretend until
hormones left me scarred and askew. Then none
of the holy wanted me. When gods dump
you you learn certain folk preach divine will
the way the devil preaches salvation ––
with the lie that the gods want our worship.