I was God’s favorite, once—enough
schoolgirl in me to make Mary
sweat. not a fall-from-grace, but something sweeter.
an unlit cigarette wedged between two
adolescent fingers; & the skin like bruised fruit. now,
the only notion of holy pressed
between opaque pages, or bound
at the wrists. The sacrament of confession,
or the first time I ran my tongue
along someone else’s teeth. Enough
obedience in me to serve man,
to kneel in velvet & say a little prayer
for every single bead
of sweat.
