That light guided me
More surely than the noonday sun
To the place where He was waiting for me
Then I saw a burning light, as large and as high as a mountain, divided at its summit as if into many tongues.
Winter Sundays,
when my father was on strike from steel,
he and my mother woke late,
then rose and prepared for high mass at Saints Peter and Paul.
the telephone rang it
was Mr. Shupstead at the
mill they had had to use
tear gas father made a
special prayer right a-
way for God’s protection
Hey, Catholics, what is it with that red heart out there
beating on Jesus’ chest like some Frankenstein
experiment gone bad
there’s your average man, hirsute and raging with testosterone,
Godzilla incarnato, King Kong with big feet, Frankenstein
hovering over some delectable damsel with skin like fresh pastry
Now I thank the black butterflies, the Sisters who raised me.
Sister Jane, who taught me how to garden and identify weeds.
Sister Marie Therese, kind and soft. Sister May Bride
Who defied authority to comfort me when I was disgraced.
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