by Susan H. Maurer
She had to kiss the floor they were so strict.
She once wore coif, grey wool, whalebone corset stays
cheap cotton slips, rough muslin, too.
Her mother knocked on the corset, “Knock, knock. Are you in there ?” Now she dresses for liturgy celebrated by a woman,
priests scarce. (Eucharist excepted.)
She changes her clothes for the liturgy.
“Jesus is my spouse,” she says.
(I was shocked, tried not to show it.)
Saw her later, neatly dressed.
She had changed, her blouse, embroidered, white.
Face flushed, luminous.