I͙'m͙ B͙o͙m͙b͙i͙n͙g͙ i͙n͙ C͙o͙n͙f͙e͙s͙s͙i͙o͙n͙
Jane Dabate
There was some intentional abstraction in my admission, yes, some light fudging, which might speak to my impulses more generally. Perhaps I have some spiritual insecurities that prevent the kind of transparency this setting demands. Pardon, for this Church is very new to me truthfully. I only went Transcendental one lover ago. We needed some hot dogma in order to lay our exes to rest. As for God, He was frank as ever. Right there in the words of nearly everything I picked up with pages. Truth, goodness, beauty. They waltzed into my heart like pretty triplets. I wish I could have conceived them myself.
The trinity virtues certainly sleep soundly in my heart, tucked to rest there, even in those moments when I head straight toward fanned flames. The responsibility is mine alone, although boyfriends can lay like welcome mats at the hearth of a bender. How far does the goodness of truth stretch? I do not always know how much to say, in this little tin of being listened to. I just have so much on my mind, least of all vague expectations of decorum, which very well may matter here. Containment has never been in my wheelhouse you see, just the opposite. The last God said I was quite the entertainer actually.
Jane is a writer from Massachusetts. She received the 2024 Pat Kavanagh Prize for her portfolio on the Goldsmiths, University of London Creative Writing MA programme.