I chose it,
went willingly,
put in
the time
with the diocese
and my sponsor,
took classes,
three weekend
retreats, thought
hard and long about
the commitment,
what the sacrament
meant, what I meant
doing it. I bought
a dress, new shoes, stayed
true, confessed all
I had to confess,
which was a lot
of nil. I did my part,
in other words,
went all in,
though I didn’t say much
about it, except to myself
about myself—
the only real fear
being whether
any part of me was
worthy. The day came.
I showered, pinned
up my hair, looked
in the mirror;
for good measure,
fell to my knees
to ask what I was
worth—the answer
being the same one
I heard God
always say,
which was nothing
and that nothing
was more than
something—
it was everything.