An Ogress’ Orison

Little girl lost made change from the offering plate,
and ate all the oatmeal creme pies in one sitting,
and followed the leaders to school, to church,
to a secret hideaway in a Farkleberry tree,
and one day–cognitively concordant–took a dip
in a liquid metaphor
for free will and divine intervention,
but somewhere between fashion-forward knock-off Barbies
and embittered brewskies at bawdy brouhahas,
she lost Jesus but found Mark, then Bill and Kev,
then Mary, Mary, rosebud cherry,
and a whole slew of suppressed conquests:
vivified virility, transcendental torpidity;
yet awoke one score and half again
to a plundered livelihood,
her ersatz Emmanuel equitably entombed extant–
she had stepped through a cheval glass
forged of cognizance and lost dreams,
thus longed for retrospection to secede
in favor of reinvention or a reclamation
of the mimeographed mores of her girlhood,
only with the wisdom and wherewithal
of a charmed life and higher education;
if only sheer willpower and ambition
could defeat daēvas,
could cleanse palate, palette, pallet, and pellet,
could reinstate faith;
to her knees she fell–a familiar pose–
and wept the corybantic lachryma of a spent soul,
’til cockrow brought forth cleansing,
ribald replaced with repose.

One thought on “An Ogress’ Orison

  1. In some ways it is like a country song to me. With how it tells a heartbreaking story and yet seems to tell one of rebirth.

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