As these knee socks fall,
I would like it if you,
Mother Seton, would
guide me through these
days of bruised elbows,
scuffed shoes,
and prayers that get
tangled in my teeth.
Please don’t tell anyone
that I’ve got sweater
pockets full of acorns
that I clench in my palms
during Mass.
Instead of showering
after gym class, I splash
some water on my face,
and let the water run.
I apologize.
However, I am curious
(and terrified) of Sister
who pours milk over
the heads of boys
in the hallway.
It mixes with their tears
in rivulets that race down
their noses, past their belts
(tightly buckled) and pools
at their feet.
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