Father, forgive me for I am your daughter not your son, not muscle, a vessel you will hand to another man, seldom called upon to pray or preach. I teach primary Sunday School. I glissando hymns on the piano. Forgive me for being Eve, Magdelene, Delilah. Forgive me for letting my body curve until you stop wrestling me hugging me like a son. Your eyes avert. Forgive me for being Bathsheba, Jezebel, Salome. Forgive me for not hiding under girdles and long hems, for seeing through the Bible’s tissue pages, for daring to find pleasure flying beyond your pulpit.