In college I phoned you in spurts from
campus pay phones like confessional booths.

Your phone number was my introductory prayer
memorized and dialed so rapidly that I had to

say it all at once to remember any one part of it.
On my way to the dining hall or having skipped

a class, you always picked up no matter
the time of day as if you were waiting

patiently behind the screen even though
you knew my face and voice, and always

seemed so pleased to hear it and listen on
as I spilled sins that probably didn’t even

register on a Richter scale though I believed they
moved the world. Even if you were not

the one I needed forgiveness from, after half-assing
some paper or blowing off a friend, no absolution

ever came without you. I hung up, blessed and resolved
to be a bit stronger and to sin no more.

This article appears in May 30 2011.