Sister Aloysius Is Smarter Than She Looks

still,

somehow,

i am petrified.

reassurance was never

my most reliable ally;

in fact, i would

say it has a worse track record

than those pretend catholics

who attend church

on christmas-only(i'm

even worse than that.

i don't attend, ever).

this sinking,

this

fierce application of pressure on

lungs and insides,

lingers wordlessly,

content in not drawing attention to itself,

but when it becomes more

attention-starved than the

forgotten middle child,

there is no ignoring it.

there is no catching your footing.

not even an absurd amount

of fuzzy, blue blankets(that your

grandmother knit from scratch)

could make you feel

safe.

doubt is your only paramour,

and my, what big hands(and eyes

and teeth and fists)it has.

but what kind of life

would it be

if i were to keep this

no-good lover?,

constantly shivering in the desolate

shadow it casts?,

constantly searching for an answer

i will never find?

i must pry myself free.

i must show it to the door

and tell it never to return.

please, do not call.

do not write.

rain, rain,

go away,

and never

come back

again.