The Slide
written by: Michael McGuire
the nuns at school told us
every misdeed every sin left
a dark spot upon the soul
I imagined a black Crayola smudge
as we offered prayers for pagan babies
and the conversion of souls
in Russia
in another country a peasant girl collected firewood
not yet a sinner
not yet a saint soon to stumble
upon the grotto and the beautiful lady
but on the playground I stumbled too and
stuffed my pockets full of dark spots as
the possibility of sin appeared everywhere
like a blinding light
so terrible so bright I momentarily froze
in the glare
at the top of the slide
until my small trembling hands
pushed off and I screamed
my way down the twisty slide
sliding as fast as I could
propel myself faster
down
the chute
falling
into the stained darkness.
