God was listening, but even so
        I never told the truth
in confession. If I'd stolen candy

from Woolworth's, I'd say I took
        the Lord's name
in vain eleven times, Father,

since my last confession. If I'd
        been good,
I'd say I took the Lord's name

six or seven times. I knew the priest
        depended on sins
to feel good about his job,

but most of all I wanted to get back
        to the religion
of the schoolyard as fast as possible,

to epiphanous spin moves off the post
        and soft reverse layups.
Thus I never properly did penance

at the altar, two Hail Marys
        instead of four,
a fast Our Father, maybe half

an Act of Contrition or Apostle's
        Creed.
I don't know why I never was afraid

of God and his famous penchant
        for punishment.
I don't know why Hell 

didn't scare me, why it seemed
        like some movie
with special effects. Angels, though, 

were real, like invisible friends
        you could count on. 
I remember thinking angels could make

a shot go in, angels were what prayers
        were all about.
When my friend Brian said 

he was going to confess to Father Kelly 
        that he masturbated, 
I told him look, no, don't stir up

Father Kelly, tell him you took 
        the Lord's name in vain
three hundred times and were very sorry,

but Brian said God was listening,
        God knew, 
and anyway he would be forgiven,

that was the thing about being Catholic, 
         stupid, your sins
could be forgiven. I knew he was right,

but I went right on confessing 
        to Jesus Christs,
goddamns, Christs Almighty, words

I never in fact said, but words I knew
        were the right words 
for the occasion. 


Stephen Dunn died on his 82nd birthday this past Thursday at his home in Frostburg, MD. He was the author of seventeen collections of poetry, most recently Lines of Defense (2013), Here and Now (2011), and What Goes On: Selected and New Poems: 1995-2009. In 2001, his collection Different Hours won the Pulitzer Prize.