She’s upstairs in the shower, your Mother Virginia

Praying along

With Mass on the TV, getting ready for work

So she doesn’t hear you

Creep back into the house

Slip into the study closet 

and

Hide behind her filing cabinet

The one with her meticulous records of past students.

Listen to all her ritual sounds, assigning movements to them in your mind

Running down the stairs, grabbing keys and bag, slamming the door so it locks, amen.

Wait an appropriate amount of time in penitent silence

(She might come back for something she forgot)

After you feel her spirit far enough away

You emerge carefully and quietly from your place

Even though you know you’re alone.

You always move tautly in this house made of trip wires

Even when you’re supposed to be home

Even when you’re alone

Your mere existence can be enough to condemn you, like a shout in a church.

Call the school, disguise your voice, talk to Sister Maria Gloria 

And tell them your daughter’s sick again

Poor thing, hope she feels better. We’ll pray.

Change your clothes but keep your uniform with you for later

Drive the family Ford to the PATCO station 

Dad’s in Texas working the refinery strike, such a good man

He won’t notice the miles gone or the absence

Being unmissed is a blessing and a comfort, a freedom.

You get on the empty train to Philly

Head to 3rd Street Jazz, genuflect, enter.

The owners ignore you, sinner, schoolgirl on the run because

You fit here, even though you’re a cherub in this dirty club

A slice of straight white Jesus in the audio confessional

Body wedged between crates of old hip LP’s in the back

Kneeling at the cracked stool, with headphones on

Listening to hymns by Miles Davis.