There’s a party here to witness all my sin.
It was not enough that there be just one; The Son
I feel most guilty about and it freezes my blood to ice,
unworthy and judged by others, yet not him. How nice
to feel secure and safe and loved, kissed nose to nose
like Eskimos do to defrost the chilling snow cone,
flavored by the selfishness of me’s and my’s and I—
Then it must be done. To my love I’ve wronged, I confess.
Kortney Y. Watkins is a poet, short-story writer, novelist, and educator. She lives for love, waits on the moon, and hopes for the sake of humanity; every slash of a pen and stroke of a key is dedicated to exploring those things often done, less considered. She resides in the Atlanta metropolitan area amongst loving kin and friends.