One by one, I rip the pages and let the heat curl them

sweat, dark circles, the men damp, the women damp, a trace of Ivory soap,

Her joy lashed me. I felt my every edge whittled.

reaching for Teresa reaching for Thérèse reaching for Teresa reaching for the utter center of the divine diamond fruit, an arrow into flame

Surely now, the Blessed Virgin would cure Aunt Rose of polio.

There comes a day When you realize That some people are temporary.