Marian Calabro
January 4, 2008
Queen of Peace
Do the stairs in my grade school still dip like teaspoons,
grooves to the left and right where silent armies of kids marched?
Are the uniforms still navy and gray plaid?
Is Our Blessed Mother smiling on the landing?
Are her plaster robes and eyes still plaster blue?
Who thought up the transparency of the Sacred Heart?
Does the smell of sauerkraut rising from the basement kitchen at 11:00
still strike terror in the hearts of picky eaters?
Do legions of bingo ladies saturate the cafeteria
with Marlboro smoke every Wednesday night?
Is the library still stocked with books from my father’s generation?
Do the windows open with poles, a brass hook threading a brass eye,
looking out on the north Jersey asphalt
where little girls in tiaras
dance around the May pole once a year,
lifting up their eyes simple and wise?
How’s the fire escape?
Does it still serve as an overflow staircase?
Has any other girl had her penny loafer fall off
and land three stories below?
Did I ever thank Robert Ameo for running down
and bringing it back to me?
Was there no turning back once the nuns learned to drive?
Am I the last person on earth who remembers pagan babies
(I loved naming them)
and mite boxes?
