Light as a Feather, Stiff as a Board

We all slid two fingers of each hand under
some part of Lisa, who closed her eyes
and folded her arms as if practicing
for her funeral. I got her shoulder
and the soft belly of her upper arm.
Before we lifted and began the chant,
we all looked solemnly at one another.
A few of us nodded. Megan licked her lips.

Lisa was only up to our thighs
when guilt snaked into the room and our hearts,
like last time with the Ouija board. We knew
we were messing with Something Dark
here, as our youth group leader would say.
He compared sin to a tipping cup. You think
you can keep from spilling, pull back
at the last second—

but whatever’s inside wants out,
and will find a way at the slightest provocation.
You can’t miss church just one Sunday
or take just one drag
off a cute guy’s cigarette while
listening to a whole album in his car.
You can’t practice kissing on a girlfriend
without liking it more than the pillowcase.

Lisa smacked her head on the hardwood
when we dropped her.
We didn’t apologize—not to her.
Her pain was our atonement for experimenting
with the supernatural. We spent
the next hour asking God’s forgiveness,
aloud, frantic, one girl after another,
stopping only to listen for some sign of it.