Blasphemy is Easy in Love
Her brothers passed me at the dinner table like salt. Her sisters took me out of each other’s arms with fingers spread to protect my neck. Aunt Margie and Grammie Lorraine prayed three rosaries for me, on the black rosary from Ireland that hung beside the telephone in the hall. The same rosary that was draped on Uncle Timmy’s hands when he laid dead in the front room. For luck. Aunt Christie baptized me in the kitchen sink when my fever spiked. She anointed my head with canola oil, washed away my sins at the tap. Father O’Neil wouldn’t baptize a bastard baby and to make it worse I was black haired with a rosebud mouth, half-circle fingernails like ice shavings. A devil in the cradle.