I grew up sweaty all year 'round,
except maybe on Sundays when I had
to clean up my act and sit in quiet eternity on an oak pew,
fidgeting with the screws in the wood,
sometimes breathing out of my mouth on account
of how bad old people smell
which always made me wonder
what age the smelling starts

I split my fingernails because maybe the screws
I was fidgeting with held the whole thing together
and if I could turn just one rusty head, I could
collapse the seat, maybe even the whole building

It was a always itchy hot, and babies were forever crying in the back
I used to think that they had babies crying in the back
to make us think it was baby Jesus crying for our sins
until one day I realized they were just babies,
and they were hot and fidgety too

I was clean on the inside,
sweaty outside
but clean on the inside and no one else knew it but me
and maybe my little sister,
and she secretly hoped I was right

One time she brought a nail file she’d hidden in her
jumbled nest of a hair-do and slipped it into my hand
making my face look confused

“For the ***** silly, “ she whispered,
dinosaur voice and slight lisp
“make it turn, maybe you can make it turn with that”

She was sweaty too, crusted syrup on her bottom lip,
feet dangling far above the squeaky floor
but as far as I was concerned,  
she was the most beautiful
sweaty little angel in the world