Free Identical by Ellen Hopkins

don’t go to church, but in
    my search for personal answers,
    I have explored the Bible some.
    (Weird, I know, but when you get
    no answers at all, you reach.)
    The Old Testament is scary,
    filled with misery. That God
    was pretty creepy, all in all.
    But Christ’s testament asks
    for patience, harmony. Not war,
    nor ostracism. Not hate crimes, lies,
    or offering plates filled to the brim.
    I wonder if there’s really a place
    in heaven for hypocrites
    who preach love, all the while
    kicking the downtrodden.
    Still, I might have bought into
    the essence of Christ, except,
    according to the scriptures, he
    also asked for understanding
    and forgiveness, even of our
    enemies. And if he really expected
    that, I could not pass muster.
    Some people I’ll never forgive.

It Was Greta
    Who first turned me on to the Bible.
    Whenever my life takes a wrong
    turn, I look there for direction.
    I went there often, she said, when
    I was no more than your age and
    the Nazis overran my country.
    The Bible, she said, offered comfort.
    But it couldn’t save the Jews who
    were marked for execution. It took
    people to do that, and my people,
    Lutherans, were not afraid to
    interfere. Every life is precious.
    The Bible, she said, gave no solutions.
    But it did let us know God
    helps those who help themselves.
    In our Danish eyes, Lutherans,
    Jews, and all in between were no
    more nor less than Danes.
    Comforted, validated, they went to work.
    Once we got word the Germans
    were definitely coming for our
    Jewish brothers and sisters,
    we smuggled them to safe houses
    along the eastern coastline.
    And, to make the original “fisher of people” proud,
    Mostly at night, but sometimes
    day, we put them on fishing boats
    and took them safely to Sweden.
    We lost four hundred, but saved
    thousands from the camps.
    They lost more than their Jewish friends.
    At first the Nazis took little
    except food, but with the Resistance,
    they confiscated property, possessions.
    The freedom fighters they caught
    went to the camps. Or disappeared.
    Some were even martyred on the spot.
    Many of us were just children.
    I saw a friend gunned down in
    the street. But we were doing
    the Lord’s work, and we reaped
    his mercy from that time forward.

She Believes That Too
    Must be nice to have that kind
    of unshakable belief
    in a merciful higher power.
     
    I believe in a higher power,
    but you can’t call
    it merciful. No, not at all.
     
    It’s the power of my father, all
    will and rules and law,
    and governed himself by
     
    Deadly Sins, chief among them
    avarice and lust.
    The only two that don’t apply
     
    are sloth and gluttony. That last
    one I lay claim to, and
    before I go to work, I plan on
     
    giving into it wholeheartedly.
    Gluttony interrupted
    leads to Gluttony, with a capital G.

No Time for a Major Lovefest
    I’ll have to make do with
    a sugar OD, leave the five
    food groups for next time.
    Look at me, already plotting
    a next time. What’s up?
    Stupid question, Kaeleigh.
    What isn’t up? You can’t
    maintain a relationship
    with the only guy in
    the world worth loving.
    Your father’s a freak,
    your mother is invisible,
    your friends don’t get
    you at all, and you for
    real like it that way.
    School used to be an escape.
    Now it’s just another place
    with too much pressure,
    too much confrontation,
    and so not enough joy.
    Your entire life is joyless.
    Go ahead. Eat. Pig out, in fact.
    Food is real, too much
    of it the only thing you feel.
    (Except the razor.) So feel.

Still Feeling It
    As I pedal my bike up the hill
    toward the Lutheran home.
    Several days until the time
    change, it shouldn’t be too dark
    when I leave. But I’m going to
    have to figure out a better way
    to and from this place once night
    falls when it’s still afternoon.
    I despise the short days of winter.
    Don’t even like the holidays,
    and why would I? The only good
    thing about them is the omnipresent
    food. But all that phony good cheer?
    Spare me. Or jump