A reading from the book of Ashlyn, daughter of Mark.
In the name of my Father
(Who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name):
Ritual calls a lighter to a cigarette
It pulls the calloused flesh of its thumb over the metal striker
Igniting the air it breathes, exciting a dull glow
A puff of recognition lays down on the exhale
Soon there will be ashes. It settles like smoke.
When the smoke settles
The Room is void.
The walls move in and
Swallow him holy, moving in
Relentless rythmic contraction
A chorus of prayer, annointing the sick
Let us paint crosses in the ashtray.
"Ahhhhh-men."
coughing
In the name of the daughter:
He tries to avoid the ritual,
But the chants persist
He is a sinner.
Only blood can cleanse him
He partakes
May the Spirit be with you.
"And also with you."
We lift our glasses to the Lord.
"It is right to give Him thanks and praise."
*The room goes silent.
Observation of prayer.*
In the name of the Holy Spirit:
The blood of Christ compels a drink
The spirit makes my father new
He is no longer man.
Now, he is exorcised by the spirit.
Praise be to God in his slurred speech
And peace to this person on earth
His sunken eyes. His swollen belly.
God, is he your Mary?
Is this your beautiful creation? Your masterful plan?
God, am I your son? I think so.
I stretched my arms out to you.
It seems you left me hanging.
You, the only father who has ever forsaken me. Why?
Feb 10, 2020
Feb 10, 2020 at 9:32 AM UTC
A reading from the book of Ashlyn, daughter of Mark.
In the name of my Father
(Who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name):
Ritual calls a lighter to a cigarette
It pulls the calloused flesh of its thumb over the metal striker
Igniting the air it breathes, exciting a dull glow
A puff of recognition lays down on the exhale
Soon there will be ashes. It settles like smoke.
When the smoke settles
The Room is void.
The walls move in and
Swallow him holy, moving in
Relentless rythmic contraction
A chorus of prayer, annointing the sick
Let us paint crosses in the ashtray.
"Ahhhhh-men."
coughing
In the name of the daughter:
He tries to avoid the ritual,
But the chants persist
He is a sinner.
Only blood can cleanse him
He partakes
May the Spirit be with you.
"And also with you."
We lift our glasses to the Lord.
"It is right to give Him thanks and praise."
*The room goes silent.
Observation of prayer.*
In the name of the Holy Spirit:
The blood of Christ compels a drink
The spirit makes my father new
He is no longer man.
Now, he is exorcised by the spirit.
Praise be to God in his slurred speech
And peace to this person on earth
His sunken eyes. His swollen belly.
God, is he your Mary?
Is this your beautiful creation? Your masterful plan?
God, am I your son? I think so.
I stretched my arms out to you.
It seems you left me hanging.
You, the only father who has ever forsaken me. Why?
To clarify, my biological father was the best thing that ever happened to me. He was so full of love and light in ways that were not showcased in this poem. Unfortunately, addiction claimed his life in 2014 and I lost my best friend in the whole world. This poem is not aimed to portray him as a bad dad (he was not), but is aimed to draw attention to the horrors of addiction and explore my rejection of relgion after losing him. Addiction is an ugly disease that takes people slowly and painfully and in very ugly ways. My dad was the last person that deserved to suffer addiction and this is my call to God, if there is one, to express my pain and ask him "Why this?" I know the language is ****** and graphic - it hurts me to write it. Unfortunately, this is what addiction looks like and I felt the need to be honest.
Thank you for reading and for the support as I share a vunerable subject publicly. If you or anyone else out there that you know is struggling with addiction, please get help. I am happy to talk with you and provide you with some resources. I am sending lots of love, stay strong.
"I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the word and I shall be you."