 |
 |
WHAT I LEARNED IN CATHOLIC SCHOOL
Mary Grimm
Boys are priests, girls are nuns, though all dress in dark
colors. God created the world
only once, all the beasts, all
the fishes coming forth like
a fountain, each green leaf,
each furry ear, each wide-open
eye a testament, compounded
and congealed into a question
in our pale green catechism
book. Men are interested in
breasts, reference Isabella,
Queen of Spain, Catholic
monarch, her memory pressed into
a book in the school library,
donated by Mr. and Mrs. W____:
the word “breasts”
on the page a lesson I had
to learn? The boys played
on the boys’ playground, the girls
on the girls’. The crossing
guard was a boy, and reading ahead
in the reading book was wrong.
Falling down on the playground, I
learned that I must not go to sleep,
don’t let her go to sleep, my head
a drooping flower. Boys are priests,
boy priests playing on the boys’
playground. Nuns can be violent:
Sister Etna, like the volcano. In
spelling, don’t be too smart.
Issue Six Excerpts
|
