OLD NUN HABITS
By JOAN M KOP
Ghost-like material
flowing softly in the wind—
Black Angels, they were,
and so mysterious.
Grammar school invaded
by authoritarian Martians,
who crept around classrooms,
holding us hostage till 3:30.
Each day marching us two-by-two
down the street to the Church
for a celebration called mass
where they’d sing sentences
in high-pitched voices
which sounded, without
translation, quite like:
I can play dominoes better than YOU can!
Our eyes twinkled at the news.
So, there was fun in heaven—
at least dominoes were played there.
But what were their habits—
Did they ever eat?
I once saw one bite an apple,
but most of us agreed
they never ate real meals
or had to go to the restroom.
And what was their hair like,
or did they have any?
We weren’t sure.
Wind on the playground
was what our prayers sought.
The contest had to be won—
What lie beneath the garb?
Angels don’t have to wear
underwear, you know.
It was a puzzle.
No wonder we had trouble learning.
Our curiosity never satisfied
without risk of being sent
to the Principal’s office.
That head gear, though,
was illusive—
being stiff did not mean
barely penetrable.
A Second-Grader became cognizant,
trying to pierce it
with a stickpin during
an anniversary celebration,
pinning on a crown of flowers.
It was as good a chance as any
to see how hard it was—
she thrust the pin straight down,
only to find Mother Superior,
sending the poor nun to the infirmary, tell her:
It is not like a doll’s head, dear.
I suppose they were a fad,
those old nun habits,
but they’re missed now—
by the eyes of a Second-Grader,
who gave equal consideration,
to Martians and Black Angels,
in exercising imagination.