by Imran Boe Khan
The hands of repentance are hesitant.
Let me tear myself into remorse.
The leader of this support group
will see my reparation will be simple.
When I reach the second step, sin is forgiven.
They declare its wholeness over; the pressed spirit
has split the rotten shell.
My sponsor says the steps can be my remedy
or my end. Under his watch, my restitution comes
to ruin. As in a dream, there is no distance between
disasters. My mouth opens to scream
at a God for unnailing my stable Earth.
Although no one could make out the sound I made,
an email informs me I’ve had my share of the AA God’s ear.
Best now to fall back on my want for a worthy God
–how much time it would take to explain I screamed
at no one in particular. I grasp blindly at what I can.
That’s where my trouble started and will end.
Imran Boe Khan’s work has appeared in places such as Sixth Finch, The Rumpus, Cosmonauts Avenue, Yes, Poetry, and The Bitter Oleander. A previous winner of the Thomas Hardy Prize, he is the author of Hive (Pen and Anvil Press, 2020) and has had poetry nominated for Best of the Net and the Pushcart Prize. Imran is a lecturer at Bournemouth University and lives in Christchurch, Dorset.
Emerge Literary Journal 