At least I made it to the funeral.
Sara said I really should go.
Sister Peg seated Mollie and me right in the front row,
five feet from the casket.
Sister Maurice had scripted the whole funeral herself.
With the finesse of a playwright,
she cued up laughs and tears.
Some twenty of her former novices,
one hand on the casket, one hand raised in blessing,
wept our way through
“May the Lord bless you, may the Lord keep you….”
Afterward in the sunny cemetery,
we strolled among the graves
of all those other nuns we knew.
Mollie said, “What happens to this place when all are gone?”