Migration of the Nuns

The weekend in the convent left me clanging
Prayers in my head
In the gardens
In the graveyard
Trying to find a sign of anything
That made me close to god

Quaintly stored
Between the Joy of Cooking
And the Joy of Sex

Naming the rest of the Alpha Bet
Joy books
Numbering the pages
Gladiator Numbers

Wind in the wimples
And I wanted them all to rise into
The sky
And migrate to a place where   their hair
Would be free

No god showed up
Just statues   of
Mary

Photographed
Bye   and by
Cougar journalist

In a foreign country
No papers to cross over

Hoping that breasts would be my pass in

I could not speak the language
Tongue-tied   and tie died to a Braille board
Tasting
Nothing

Mary
A beehive tucked under the fold
Of her marble garment
A secret invite
Honey combed occurrence



My clanging
Came back to me