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the calling

as a girl my mother prayed
for the stigmata
to pass her by. let
the hand remain whole, let

the lord’s eye land
elsewhere: thus
ran the prayers
of good catholic girls. good

catholic boys, too,
for when i leaned
of our lady of fatima, i fled
into sin. in school,

i swore. in church,
i daydreamed, doodled
superheroes
in the hymnals. in bed,

i imagined the bodies
of other
good catholic boys
& touched myself. yet still

i said my rosary. i awaited
the miracle. sometimes,
i tried to picture heaven, its
perpetual bells, its wide

fields of light. no
matter how hard
i called to them, no
visions ever came.