In
my one room suite at Villanova
she
stretches out and rubs herself
I
take a sponge and wash her feet
barefoot
she on Ardmore's streets
we
take some books from the shelf
to
study scholastic philosophies
Maimonides,
Boethius, Avicenna,
Averroes,
Augustine, and Aquinas
and
after we have done our studies
before
she leaves the room she kisses
the
unmarked places left omitted
from
Father Papin's reading list
She
sunbathes with a little cover when
the
September sun is hot on Sundays
but
first she goes to church
to
confess her fight for worldliness
right
outside the Alumni women’s dormitory
near
the statue of St. Augustine
across
from St. Thomas monastery
she
rubs herself with almond lotion
From
the third floor of Tolentine, I
feel
the motion as I’m sure do the priests
novices
and those ordained alike
pass
by her as if it were her right
to
take from God his holy light
the
body pure by itself
made
unclean by human sight
what
great pleasure He must have taken
from
she the one that He created
Oh
how I love those priests
who
in their study
have
no time for pettiness to snitch
to
any board of campus inquiry
only
God could be her judge and jury
to
ignore her is their penitence
for
lack of mainline sufferance
Oh
but how silly the boys in my dormitory
they
aren’t priests but rather in a hurry
they
stand on their fire escapes
and
tease her 'til she goes away
For
me she comes around eight
just
before she goes out on a date
breaks
parietals and there undresses
and
reviews with me her syllabus
with
me she knows she needs not worry
about
staking claims or telling stories
Poor
silly boys they don’t know
on
the third floor of my dorm
I
can hear the bells of vespers call
the
priests from their study halls
and
like Ibn Rushd the Cordoban
we
hear the Maghrib sunset song
the
muʾaddin
holds the tone so long
long
after the September sun has gone
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