the church finds out about the boy who killed himself
aren’t you grateful we aren’t in
That Kind of Environment?
she says when the boy down the road is found
swinging from a noose on a sunday afternoon.
i hear aren’t you glad we aren’t Like That?
i hear you don’t belong here if you think That Way.
i hear that boy’s going right to hell.
at least we’re still holy.
it has been three days and
he is an example before his ghost has even left the room.
shame is shed before condolences.
people are whispering
it’s a good thing that doesn’t happen here.
i am getting tired of god bless you and
sympathetic stares from chicken and biscuit women.
what a waste of God’s creation.
they seem to say he had potential
but i wonder if they mean God wasted His time.
the congregation cries amen!
when the pastor tells them
God says to love everything He made.
i wonder if they know that God meant it.
if you’re going to love the lord,
love his people too.
By sarah kate osborn
sarah kate osborn is an amateur poet from north carolina who hates describing herself and rebels against capital letters. she is trying to toss her voice into a world already filled with noise and may have nothing meaningful to say. she has been published or is soon to be published in the rising phoenix review, words dance magazine, and persephone’s daughters. she can be found at allthesinkingships.tumblr.com