when we meet again
and you are married to your pious wife
with your just-as-pious children,
(in their Sunday clothes,
with scapulars around their little necks)
i hope you remember.
i hope you remember
the times i would leave you breathless,
the times i would leave you in conflict,
when i would show you new things.
my tongue untrained,
i would tell you to speak your mind
and forget the men in priestly robes.
you would kiss me (to silence me)
with such fury;
fury due to confusion
fury because you know I am right.
i should’ve known,
of all people,
that you would choose the alternative:
the one willing to get down on her knees
to worship the deity,
to worship you,
to kiss wrinkled palms of pontiffs,
to eat the tasteless bread,
to sing the unsung hymns,
to submit to subservience.
she gave you certainty
and the promise of salvation,
and i gave you sight
to a world full of color.