Patience of GodAt St. Patrick's Catholic Church in Ottumwa, Iowa,
I fell in love with Father John Clark at Sunday mass when I was nine.
I married him on my first communion.
At Dickey's Prairie Home Buffet, still wearing my white dress,
I broke a plate and dropped cranberry sauce in my lap
and practiced saying "consummated."
Sitting always in the first pew, I had the best view of him,
and the best piece of the body of Christ, first in line.
Unlike the older ladies whose small tongues quivered,
I had a strong one, and could extend it like a drawbridge,
taking the whole body of Christ on my tongue, securely.
That way, I also stole a taste of the fingers of Father John.
Father John Clark loved me, I'm sure of it,
which is why he left the church that year.
That's also why my old neighbor next door died.
She loved him too. Father John Clark used to visit her
so he could watch me, secretly, as I panned for gold
in the limestone driveway
Ten years, he said, he'd be back for me, so I practiced
with anyone who'd have me. Father John said to—-
"Prepare yourself for the coming of the Lord. Make yourself worthy."
By nineteen, I was worthy.
That was a year of heat, a dry year, a year of faith.
Cindy Bosley*******************
RL
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