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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

it was everything.



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