Pulling out, Johnny almost hits the old nun.
Her blue habit flapping in the breeze. The sun
catching the stubble on her chin, the deeply
etched creases in her forehead. Her mouth
is a dark oval of terror and time
stops. Her feet don’t move. I wonder, did she see
the silver grille of Johnny’s beat-up Honda?
Or did she see God? Did she think, Saints
preserve me, or just, Oh, shit! Did she feel her soul
float to heaven on a cloud? Or did she hear
brakes squealing? For a moment, did she know
what everything means? Tell me, sister. Tell me,
why is it, in my dreams, your face
is no longer wrinkled, red, or scared,
but serene?
Photo Credit: Marc Samsom Flickr via Compfight cc
Paula R. Hilton
Paula R. Hilton explores the immediacy of memory and how our most important relationships define us. Her work has been nominated for Best Small Fictions and has appeared in The Feminine Collective, The Sunlight Press, Writing In A Woman’s Voice, Dear Damsels, The Tulane Review, and elsewhere. Her novel, Little Miss Chaos, was selected as a Best Indie Teen Read by Kirkus, and her first poetry collection, At Any Given Second, received a Kirkus star. She holds an MFA from the University of New Orleans.
