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.