Poem for the Lost Ones

For my aunt, who died, and is referenced towards the end of the poem.

O lost one, cruel heart,

I want to tell you that you are loved.

You, with the vestiges of sin

Smeared around your greasy chin –

Yes, you. I want to tell you

That there is a place where these things

Do not matter; where all will be, finally,

Forgiven. Yes, I am speaking to you,

Sinner - you who stole the gold from

Your mother’s mouth, the warmth

Of her final breath still rasping on your hand;

You who last night had your hand inside a till,

Or foraging between the legs of a child.

Heartless, taker - I am telling you

That you are loved. That there is a love

Which sees beyond the blood on your bootheel

After you stamped that woman to death.

The alleyway you followed her down

Was filled with love. You swam through it

Like a fish caught in a stream. Rapist,

You have already been hooked.

Yes, there will be a judgement but it will not

Come from this. This which in fact is everything.

The hand, the heart, the eye, the blade.

This which embraces you like a lost son.

Which, in the end, will carry you home.