The Road Beneath Our Feet

Thursday Afternoon 4:45

I think I know what I saw
    but I’m not sure 
the priest and the little boy
   in the hall
I don’t know though
    it was dark
I’m not sure now
   who would go to Hell
me or the priest
  if I don’t tell
I think it was my imagination
   I worry so
I’ll hurry away to pleasanter things
   the sweet smell of rain
nothing stained
      hot tea waiting in the convent.

— Grace Cavalieri