This is the second time in my life I’ve cried
every day for at least a month. I am busy
waiting to be born again. I have heard
such miracles have something to do with water,
something to do with being cleansed, so I shower
thrice a day, I sob everywhere I can, I submerge
myself. Emily Dickinson said
once in a letter that her father had a pure
and terrible heart. I confess to foregoing
such attributes. I beg to be made
pure and terrible. I am of this world.
Hail Mary, full of grace. Say it again.