I was the offspring
of Sister Frederick,
the feather in her barren cap.
I’d sneak out of personal
typing class for the booty
of her time, for the play of her against boredom.
I loved her foyer, her vestibule,
her lips. I loved
her rapture.
Steel grey eyes pierced me
though she kept her face calm.
I loved her kinetic mind.
Once, I saw her dancing
with her father. We drank the Brandy Alexanders.
I loved the fondness in her voice.
Her life was velvet:
black veil, white scapular over
her breast.
It was her kiss
in the garden that ignites
my panting for quickness, for thirst.
