Tonight's Poet Corner: It Gets Better

It Gets Better
by Belinda Roddie

Stand up and make the sign of the cross
where your stepfather can see it. He is
waiting for you to finish the ritual before
he can beat the sin out of you.

One day, you'll be able to hitch a ride
between Hell and Purgatory to the big
city, where you will drink yourself stupid
and fall asleep with brandy stains on
your best dress shirt.

When you wake, a young woman will
wipe the spittle from your lips and carry
you to the bay to wash yourself clean.
This will be your real baptism. Salt

will leak out of every pore, and the cold
water will leave you with a new sense
of identity and purpose. You won't have
to tell your stepfather, or your mother.
Their minds are vacant in front of their
television, sharing the last mouthfuls
of confessional wine between them
before the thrashing starts again.

Rise from the waves and forget
the way your fingers drape so weakly
across your forehead, chest, and shoulders.
You follow a new religion now. The woman

will kiss your neck and feed you pancakes
and bacon until your stomach is distended.
You will catch a glimpse of the fog rolling
in. It's dark and gray now, yet nothing has
seemed so clear to you until now.