All my petty sins, so small,
I still think they are important
enough to admit to the pear tree
in the back yard.

I don’t attend church anymore

and I’ve devised my own sacrament

of confession.

I took the Lord’s name in vain.

No one even heard me.

I carried a secret in my womb

after my second child was born.

I wanted more children. I wanted

to become pregnant over and over,

at least six more times.

I wouldn’t have latchkey kids.

I’d stay home, change poopy diapers,

chase toddlers, finger paint and bake

Play-Doh all day long.

I never told anyone,

least of all my husband.

Instead, I told the pear tree

and I took the pill.