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May 2014
When I was a baby
They christened me with water
Mother said I screamed ****** ******
I must have thought that I was drowning
While they thought they saved my soul

The Sisters all wore golden crosses
Slapping us with wooden rulers
The beveled edges brought down hard
Bruising bleeding knotted knuckles

The day I first confessed my sins
To the Priest behind the screen
We children received holy cards
With glued on plastic crucifixes
That glowed when you turned out the light
Like Christ's eyes, always watching

The Sisters all wore golden crosses
And they said we were not worthy
On our knees in holy terror
We prayed in vain for our salvation

On my First Communion day
Jesus' body was a wafer
Dry as bone, thin as paper
Adhered to the roof of my mouth
My tongue dry as red hot sand
While I tried desperately to swallow

The Sisters all wore golden crosses
As they dispensed God's corporeal mercy
With a backhand to the head
And a black mark through the soul

All the children feared God's judgement
Certain we'd be cast to Satan
In His hell eternal burning
Our salvation lost forever
Plunging from eternal rapture
On paper wings alight with fire

The Sisters all wore golden crosses
Smacking us across our faces
Because of this I still remember
All the useless Latin verses
And their ugly, screaming curses
Cynthia Thompson
Written by
Cynthia Thompson  Massachusetts
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