Blackbirdan online journal of literature and the artsSpring 2011 v10n1
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REBECCA MORGAN FRANK

Peccadilloes

There is nothing but body
           and memory interned
                      with local news
           of petty crimes: bilked
and betrayed over sugar,

a perfume bottle missing
           from beneath a bed.
                      Someone divorces
           a man who stole
his baby’s milk.

Rumors ripen based on
           tales of lives lived
                      before: the dancer
           kicking the housewife
who snores.

The priest’s confessional
           is a chamber of horrors—
                      death wished
           on friends, enemies,
spouses, and God—

Deliver us from
            evil, deliver us from
                        here,
            deliver us from hunger.
deliver us, deliver us.  end


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