Sister Dolores

There's a small fragment that's been kicking around my mind for decades, my journal for a few months, and maybe now the day's arrived to set it down here. I'll do it poetry quicktime style, though I'm not really aiming for poetry, more like a b.m. And I mean that in the best sense ever. Anyway, I was never much of a churchgoer, or catechism attender. I lived next door to a convent. That was to the north of our house. To the west, up a steep hill was a church. To the south, the sun. Sometimes too much. To the east, railroad lines - no but first neighbors across the street - including an elderly woman who liked to drive a red car - then the Amtrak & Conrail lines (then) - and on the other side of that some very mysterious factory building with neon letters that at night in winter, leaves off the trees, read FAG, I kid you not. I remember one of the first times, if not the first time, you drove me back home and kissed me goodnight - and there were those horrible letters staring us in the face! I winced with embarrassment, but you didn't care, and I suppose we both laughed and kissed and that was that.

That so wasn't where I was going when I first started out but I haven't had coffee yet. I'm going to hit Send even though Dear Editor is probably like, gawd, why does she insist on giving it away for free all the time? Yeah, Babcia was right.