Jesus Matinees

Half past two Wednesdays Catholic

”a fair number” would rise up

in silence when their special

buzzer jolted our Queens

classroom, summons a good

hour before our scheduled

parole to their midweek Saint

Teresa’s spiritual sparkle, a canny

swap of Byrd’s tale of his schlep

over the Antarctic or Vasco de Gama’s

spice routes for Jesus matinees.

As if aged or made wiser by this in-

cantation, they moved off with short

grainy strokes, an etiquette faith

associates with a seasoned squad

of pallbearers primed to meet

the threat of church front steep

slippery stairs, death’s dance

swift bitsy two-step sole

shuffle spilling soft sand-

paper sounds on gathered grievers

below, cargo remaining aloft,

upright. “Early dismissal

for religious instruction,”

they call it. I envied them

their discharge before our

time and think of them now

in the wake of abrupt dismissal,

return tomorrow a fool’s

gold dream, of my daughter, 24.