Blind Faith

When I was young
it was important to show
my faith by not wearing makeup or lipstick
to Church
putting on a veil over my head
not chewing the Communion host that contained
"the BODY of Jesus"
listing weekly in a confessional booth
the venial and mortal sins I'd committed
counting Hail Maries
and our Fathers in my
piggy bank of tickets for
a good seat in heaven
concentrating real hard
during the Rosary and the long long
litany of praises
so I wouldn't fall asleep
being very obedient of
Mom, Dad, and Abuelita
and all the nuns
and Mother Superior
committing to kindness toward
mean classmates or
siblings
not lying
not stealing
not being lazy
and not picking my nose
right before getting in line for
a priestly blessing

I couldn't complain that incense made me woozy
and when I volunteered to help
polish the tall brass candelabras
in my boarding school's chapel
the tiny wrinkled nun so loved me for taking time
out from play with girls whom I didn't like anyway
who flaunted their families' wealth in my
working-class face
I'm sure I was convinced that I was becoming more special
by serving the poor oppressed nun
who had not many teeth
but gave me always a warm and grateful smile
that I was becoming saintly with
my thousands of wipes along the curved
holders of giant Easter candles
with pungent cleaner fluid
turning the dull into golden shine
bright enough for a halo
I loved the silence of the work
the darkened chapel
a safe place for an opportunity
to discover the sanctuary
and privacy of my young
anxious
questioning mind

I dared not share my secret doubt
to anyone
that I just didn't believe all that stuff
about Mary and her son's birth
that I was confused about his dying on the cross
that I wasn't sure the "holy spirit" could inspire
me or not during a pretty hard algebra test
or history lesson

I just did things with some kind of blind faith
that the next day would be the same
or maybe a little different as long
as I didn't spend too much
time in self-reflection.

@Elvia Arriola (2000)