HOLY LAND USA

I’m not sure
exactly
how
John and I
found
HOLY LAND USA.
Maybe
we read about it
in "The Catholic Standard and Times"

You see,
John and I were
friends
bound
haunted                                                                    
possessed
by our Catholic past
John and I
collected
photographed
documented                                                      

all we could find.
The ritual
the pomp
and circumstance
All
that was
the myth
and the misery
of our Catholic past.

“We’ve got to see this place,”John said.

Letter of introduction
and donation check
sent
to the Sisters
who inherited
HOLY LAND USA
Produced
An invitation
to spend                                                         

the weekend

Visible
from the highway
Giant letters
Grew
 out of the hills
of Waterbury, Connecticut

HOLY LAND USA

A 50 foot cross
marked
the biblical theme park
Constructed from
chicken wire
cinder blocks
broken bits
and
faith.

In a borrowed car
we arrived
at the trailer
of Sister Josephine and Sister Margaret.
guardians
of the holy site

“So nice to meet you,John and Karen.There’s our guest house.Please tour the grounds.We’ll have dinner here at 7.”Sister Josephine said.

John and I
roamed
overgrown hills
cracked cement steps
rusted railings
in search of
The Catacombs
The Garden of Eden                                                

The Stations of the Cross

We found them all
in rubble
in ruins
in lost glory

“I think those nuns must have really done something awful to be exiled to this place,” said John.He had 12 years experience with Catholic schools and nuns.

The Sisters’ trailer
had
 all the comforts of
suburbia
 “Blessed Mother blue”
crushed velvet
sectional sofas
with matching
hanging lamps
All covered
in plastic

“I grilled some chicken,”said Sister Josephine.”I know how men love to grill”.She winked at John.”Here’s a dandelion salad.We picked the dandelions.Don’t worry,there’s no dogs around.”
Another wink.

We spent the evening
listening
to the tales
of  long lines
of travelers
of the faithful
who came to
HOLY LAND USA

After dinner
we watched
a detective show on TV
Politely
 we excused ourselves.
“We’re so tired from the long drive,”John said.
Back in our trailer,
we collapsed
into giggles.
I think we
had brought
a bottle
or two of wine with us.

“Those girls are living in some fantasy land,”said John “I wonder when was the last time they went into those hills? Do you see how Sister Josephine’s eyes flash and her dentures click when she talks about it?”
“John,don’t you think it’s strange that nuns are allowing an unmarried couple to stay in their guest trailer?”
“From the looks of this place, we may be the only guests that they’ve had in a very long time.”

Early
next morning
we heard a crackle
from the kitchen
“Ten four,John” a disembodied voice said.
There was an intercom
in the kitchen.
Our jaws dropped.
John flicked a small switch.
“Good morning,Sister Josephine” John said.
“It’s time for breakfast”
“Ok, we’ll be right there.Ten four,Sister Josephine.”
He flicked the switch again.
“Oh my God,do you think that thing was on all night and they heard us?”he said.
Ingrained fear
of nuns
caught us both
By the throats.

Stripping
guest beds
Final tour
Backward glance
And a farewell                                         

photo by John Joyce

 
wave.
Visible from the highway
Giant letters
Grew
out of the hills.

HOLY LAND USA







 

For the fear of God...

“Look at these nicely shined shoes,pressed blouse ,clean uniform and  neat ,combed hair. Girls, here is an example of how you should look every day.”
Sister Mary Rita
patted
my perfectly
pony tailed
head.
My peter pan collar
glowed
under my forest green
uniform
as
my saddle shoes                 
gleamed
black and white.
My face
flushed
red hot
with embarrassment.

St.Veronica’s Catholic School
Third grade.

“Line up and keep quiet.Against the wall.Line up.Now.”
The blue  serge
square                                                                           

lumbered                                            
the hem of her
habit                                                  
sweeping
the hall.                                                          
the heavy wooden cross
swaying
against
 the pristine
white bib
A round pink face
watery eyes
framed 
in too delicate                                                        
gold rimmed glasses
A round pink face
with one
stray wisp
squeezed
into
the pristine
white wimple.
Sister Agnes Genevieve
Herded us to
the lavatory.
“Click.Click”
She snapped
the metal clicker
“Quiet”
“Click .Click”
“Hurry up.Back to catechism class.Now.”
Like Morse Code
For Pavlov’s dogs
We responded
single file.

“You were all born sinners.Everyone of you.You were all born with “Original Sin.”
Sister Agnes Genevieve
took the
white chalk
and drew
an oval
on the
black slate board.
“This is your soul.Black with sin.”
Our little backs
in
little stiff chairs
sat up
very straight.
“Like every good Catholic, you were baptized and received Christ as your Savior.Then your soul was washed clean and became white and pure.”
She brushed
the black soul
chalk white
pure.
The air
was filled
with great relief.
“But every time you sin”,she said ”every sin leaves a black mark.Venial sins leave a small mark.Mortal sins can blackened your whole soul”
With eraser
in hand
She swiped
 a sinful hole
in the pure white
soul.                                                                                      

“If you lie to your mother”
swipe
“If you cheat on a test”
swipe
“If you take the Lord’s name in vain”
swipe
“But if you murder someone.You will go to Hell””
the white
of the soul
now
completely
 erased
“If you die before you are baptized,you will go to Limbo-God’s waiting room.”
I imagined
cherubic
babes
in swaddling clothes
pinned
with
tiny tickets
with
numbers
and
waiting
in line.
Like
 the bakery
we went  to
after
church.
“You must go to confession and confess your sins and do your penance.Then your soul can remain white and pure.”

Weekly
Sister Agnes Genevieve
herded us
next door
to church
to confession.

Vaulted                                                          

incensed
marble walls

Coolly housed
sinners
saints
and angels.

“Click”
Single file
into
the wooden pews
“Click,click,click”
slide your foot
under
the kneeler
Place the kneeler
on  the floor
Little knees
on mohair velvet
Little hands clasped
in prayer
Waiting
for your turn
in the
confessional box.
What can I say,I think.I didn’t really do anything this week.Maybe I talked back to my mother,maybe I lied.No,I didn’t do any of that.Slow week.I better think of something.Fast.

I knew
I had to
make up
some sins
to confess
For the fear of God.