Rosary

[Hail Mary, fully of Grace]

I'm sitting on piles of afghans
knitted by an old friend
and I look around.

There's still boxes
along the walls
and in the corners.

The only way I can tell between
mine and my father's
is that I wrote "17" in blue
and he wrote in red.

I have one box left,
the one box I didn't want to open up.

But it's time now.

I clear off a shelf,
bare the purple wood,
slice through the tape
with the box cutters that are kept in my room.

The cardboard resists
to being pulled apart,
but soon the flaps are flung wide
and I'm staring through the bubble wrap.

[The Lord is with thee]

On top is my leather purse,
it's still got a couple of bus tokens
and one white glove
inside of it.
I turn it over in my hands
again and again
exploring the creases and folds of the leather,
my bed's gone now, where will I hang this?
It goes on that bottom shelf.

[Blessed art thou amongst women,]

Next is that black velvet dress,
the one we bought from Goodwill,
not the one my baby peed on,
the one that would be like a shirt now.
It's folded neatly
and wrapped up
like a sandwich.
It still reeks of patchouli.
I don't have a closet,
but that's not new.
It goes on that bottom shelf.

[And blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.]

Next is that purple folder with the ripped plastic
it's filled with the old programs
all the way back to Father Bob's sermons.
The coloring book pages of Jesus.
Photocopies of religious comics.
Short essays and homework assignments
on what Christianity means to me.
I got rid of my desk in the move.
It goes on that bottom shelf.

[Holy Mary, Mother of God,]

The first Bible I ever owned.
Big print,
guiding questions,
basic pictures.
Flipping through I remember the first night
in House Number Four,
I was scared of the shadows of boxes,
my bed was somehow in the living room so I lay on the floor,
the thick doors and walls let no sound in or out.
Spiny trees tried to enter my window.
I'd ripped the tape of this box
and taken out the Bible
read it cover to cover
and falling asleep with it in my hand.
It goes on that bottom shelf.

[Pray for us sinners,]

At the bottom,
my Easter rosary,
colorful
from a vending machine.
It goes on that bottom shelf.

[Now and at the hour of our death.]

And last,
in layer upon layer of bubble wrap
is my real rosary with the tiny cameo of Mary and baby Jesus.
I finger the tiny white-green beads
and remember that night when the power had gone out
and the wind was shaking House Number Six terribly,
I'd sat trembling next to my teacher,
with the glow-in-the-dark beads
shaking in my hands
we'd said our Hail Mary's.
I keep it in my hand.

[Amen.]