The two girls with sensible shoes
approached me with dated complements,
so I slid down the park bench
for Sister K and Sister N.
“I don’t believe in anything anymore.”
They deciphered my words,
as I studied their actions:
the way Sister K sat like a pillar
and Sister N stared at the visage of her partner.
Sister K pulled a book from her bag
then gave a preamble
that was about as long as 15 minutes of coming attractions at the cinema.
Surely nothing could live up to this, I thought, glancing
at Sister N, whose eyes remained transfixed, her lips parting.
Sister K’s voice was steady, finger wedged between the hidden pages.
I understood they thought
to give me something precious.
so I received it as such.
They showed me the painting
of their prophet in the woods watching
as one god-man pointed to another,
the way Sister N’s eyes pointed to Sister K,
and I sat basking
in her projected glory.