by Chella Courington
Originally published by Soundings East
Mama warned me if I slept with a boy before marriage the Virgin Mary would snatch me away. Where I was never sure—maybe New York or Los Angeles. To a bed of satin
so smooth I’d slide into Heaven. Tony was my first. Dimple in his chin, he pinched my butt up the stairs to civics. Twenty-four steps, him right behind.
March he gave me a broken heart on a silver chain. I’ll keep the other half in my pocket for good luck. Never thought of being swooped up by Mary when I kissed Tony. Felt him
grow in my hand like giving birth to something I wanted to know. Mama believed virgins hung the moon though not a soul in our family ever stayed that way.
Cousin Lynette did whatever she wanted—the Virgin never messed with her.