Unforgiven

When I finally met him, I knew who he was immediately. His photos were everywhere.

One night, my parents took me aside in the kitchen    

This is your choice, but you should know what he did

Next day, the neighbor’s boy whispered something about him in my ear

        The word sounded foreign

like a dress being ripped open

—

True or False:

Only the dead can refuse God.

Each of us is a scorched page: part narrative, part dream.

In good faith, Jesus offered me his heart; his collarbones arranged perfectly,
like the first line of a poem.

Unable to refuse him, I wept as he kissed me.

Halleluiah, he says. Halleluiah, I say back.

Covered in milk, you would mistake me for an angel.

If I forget fear, I must also forget beauty.

For years I could only write poems about the beautiful, dark forests of America. And smoke.

Though only seconds away from mercy, I am years away from forgiveness.

I am wrong about everything. Even this. Even you.

—

One night he did donuts in the movie theater parking lot with me in the passenger seat

At first glance / all narrative is harmless

And there are so many ways a boy / can become a man

---

Simon Shieh is a poet and educator living in Beijing. Simon’s poetry appears or is forthcoming in Poetry Daily, Beloit Poetry Journal, Narrative, The Missouri Review, Muzzle, Shenandoah, The Journal, and Southern Humanities Review, among other publications. His work has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. Find him online at www.simonshieh.com and on Twitter @shieh_simon