SMALL ROOM
The rebuilt church on the corner has no stained
glass only stainless steel
& abstract Jesus looking skyward. The boxes
at the back are the same
as always slotted bare-bones alms box
& the cubicle with a closed door & curtains
where sinners enact a sacrament
of dark thread. I’m still sorry for my childhood
sins especially those
confessed before Easter hats & new
dresses sister-sins inhabiting our shared
room with hate-love
prayers in that small space little door
only one window
bless me father for I have sinned. Sister
a synonym for strength & safety floor
joists & facing an unseen
foe. The penitents wait—an uneven line
beneath the stations
of the cross. One man small
like my grandfather wears a gray sweater
his hands twined in rosary
beads. Small he grows smaller until
he’s small enough
to fit the dark. We sisters of the lowercase
loved the holy Sisters in their wide belts
& wimples billowing
like black bells until they lay down
for the night still
in their habits each in her separate cell.