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.