Since this week is my last week of chapels, likely ever, here is one from earlier this semester:
In Apology to Chapel Speakers
I listen to your stories
of rags-to-riches spirituality,
wonder what I could say
if called upon to speak
in front of thousands of slack-jawed twenty-somethings.
Would I be asked?
I could self-diagnose, talk about the redness
of depression, talk about how it feels
to mouth the vowels of loneliness.
Then I am each quivering girl
who ever spilled her soul
over in chapel, hoping to scare
up a smidgen of empathy, maybe a confession or two
later, in the quiet of the dorms.
We have heard it before.
I might talk about the words fear
not, how I don’t understand them -
pupils dilated, molars tight.
Then I am a narcissist, as though
my fears are different
from anyone else’s.
I should quote Jeremiah, talk about
plans, talk about goodness,
but I would not really know
what either one of those words