Mandy Gutmann-Gonzalez
Sarah Good’s Confession
[March 1, 1692]
From prosperity I fell: twist of wounded falcon
become stone, petrified midair, silver wing
flits first & fits fist next—is tragedy to fall
or be born down? Neither, seems; tragedy
reserved for kings. Shame to walk into
god’s living room for fear I’d be thought ghoul,
his throne approaching in cloths so worn
a worm would deem it goody earth
or a garment aggravated by ten years grave, so,
not wishing to be god’s fright, I had myself
coppice-hid. But just as hunger coerces
cornered rabbit to wolf jaw, I’ve seen myself
around from door to door, where bystanders
say byes with earth stuffs: rain spit, rain rocks
in my direction, and, as doors open for their
slamming pleasure, I’ve felt air relax into its shape
behind the banish. Ready am I to confess
my hunger: oh god have mercy on this
humble corpse which flattened low by
desperation, partook in the following mischiefs:
myself turned into a rabbit and ate my neighbor’s lettuce,
myself turned into a snake and devoured my neighbor’s hen eggs whole,
myself turned into a little girl and sucked on the teats of my neighbor’s cow and drank till full,
myself turned into a ram, mounted my neighbor’s sheep, and took the extra lambs,
myself turned into a pail and slurped my neighbor’s butter as I churned,
myself turned into a goat and ate my neighbor’s horse whip like jerky.
Thus I passed my hunger onto my neighbors, who
call me unsavory though I taste of their groceries.
Court Examination: Sarah Good
[March 1, 1692]
What Sarah Good said:
1. not; not; 2. I say not; 3. I say I had, in hurting the children, no hand; 4. handless from leather hush of sailing whip to splitting wail; not with venom grain or poison rain have I afflicted them; not with spell to nightmare hatch or yell of wilderness echoing; nor urine cake (yell-ow) tantalized by bake; nor with pins or penny nail stuck in flesh clothes hideth; nor with backward rhyme in ears warmly whispered to scatter mind like wind scatters finches on a field; not with rot or rod or wood; 5. wasn’t it god tested through plagues of water turned to blood; through plagues of frogs; through plagues of lice; through plagues of flies; through plagues of livestock pestilence; through plagues of boils; through plagues of hail; who was it tested us through plagues of locusts?; who was it gave us the exam of plagues of darkness?; wasn’t it he who flattened firstborns?; wasn’t it god that masoched?; 6. isn’t it true that when the devell acts tis because god alloweth?; if he alloweth should we withstand him?; 7. I who was once held in god’s knapsack of shining persons have fallen through a frayed hole; 8. yet mine are two hands cleansed as an island bathed in rain; two hands scrubbed until raw; two hands by purity engraved; 9. still the devell lies, somehow, in the promontories, peering into us from cliff-edges, resting his chin on a rock; still he pummels us in god’s embankment; still he is unsheathed through our unpunishments; take heed on he the headland; still the devell froth dog mouth; how tis my fault when he rideth forth, a cresting wave upon this beach of sinners?; I by some invisible hand pushed forth; tis more lickley I beewicht than be a wi’ch.
Mandy Gutmann-Gonzalez, a poet and novelist from Vilches, Chile, is the author of La Pava (Ediciones Inubicalistas). They hold an MFA in Poetry from Cornell University and their poetry has appeared, or is forthcoming, in West Branch, DIAGRAM, diode, Interim, and other literary journals. Winner of the 2018 Boulevard Emerging Poets Prize, they has been awarded fellowships from the Bucknell Seminar for Younger Poets, Lambda Writing Retreat for Emerging LGBT Voices, TAKT Residency in Berlin, Center for Book Arts, Frost Place Conference on Poetry (Latinx Scholar), MASS MoCA, & Martha’s Vineyard Institute of Creative Writing. They live in Worcester, Massachusetts, and teach creative writing at Clark University. You can learn more about their writing on their website: mandygutmanngonzalez.com.