Sinner (I)

Sinner (I)

Kira Moolman

It’s late on a Sunday night
and I am peeling roasted beets,
thumb and pointer finger blushing red,

Yet here’s a spot.

wondering if nyctophobia is hereditary.
(When my grandmother died they told me
she had always wanted to be buried with a candle.)

I scrub the counters
and scrub the floors,

then hold the beet in my hands,
both bright and dark,
it fits perfectly in my palm,
warm as a heart.

Squeeze tight and it bleeds;
hold still and see if I can feel
a faint pulse. (Or is it my pulse,
thudding out a reminder of
my dark
my dark
my dark
?)

---

Kira Moolman
Poet & Theologian

Kira is a PhD candidate working on the theology of death in children's literature. Her poetry was previously published by The Antigonish Review.

Photography by Andrea De Santis