You stood above us, called us bastards.

You bastard.

Not even twenty-four hours after our first hug.

I was caught off guard, high off new papi euphoria.

Sister crying. Should have packed our belongings then and there.

I failed to protect her.

Said we weren’t good enough for heaven.

Only you and your wife could get us there.

Cleanse us of our sin — being born out of wedlock.

Make us like your sons.

Cover us with your hands, the mighty duo.

And what of our sister Karla — or is it Carla —

another daughter you fathered out of wedlock?

Did you wash away her sin before she died?

We are not the ones that need saving.

Hubris cloaked in religion.

Trapped in your own prison.