Chronicles of the Monastery: I

The trip that day was memorable,
a little girl, her two big brothers,
and a gang of neighborhood boys
looking for novelty in endless summer.

Furiously she pedaled with her smaller legs,
trying to keep up with the big kids.
Over the dirt trails deep in the woods
of the Catholic monastery. A shortcut, they said.

An evil, possessed tree lifted one twisted,
gnarled root just enough to send her flying
off her bike into thorny blackberry brambles.
Upon her bumpy landing she burst into indignant tears.

The boys jeered, ACry-baby! Don=t be a cry-baby!@
She got to her feet, stuck out her chin
and got back on her bike, with one less
sandal and much less dignity.

Their destination was the motel swimming pool.
The little girl stood and watched the boys
runny nosed and skinned knee, couldn=t swim to boot.
Patiently she waited, little pot belly stuck out with pride.

Temporarily held captive by her babysitters,
her brothers, well loved but by no means perfectly trustworthy.