"Summer Begins"

   

Summer begins  

shedding stress by    

lusting for Father Ralph  

I become Meggie   

slipping into heartbreak  

reliving my own devotion  

veiling my Catholic guilt under Italian lace 

missal clutched in small, white-gloved hand   

crystal Rosary, blessed by Pius XII,  

soothing my restless fingers  

his Irish brogue a supple song   

his blue eyes like laughter

he kneels before me, eye-to-eye   

proposes a date  

he’ll be my father—  

a surrogate breaking bread 

erasing my disappointment 

drying my tears with his finger tips  

tugging my hand to the crook of his arm 

his brilliance dazzles me

my heart worships him 

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

 

SUPPORT new talent like IOUNIO--Listen, Like, Comment, Repost, &

SUBSCRIBE!!!

This is the perfect song to listen to while reading "Summer Begins" .

"Summer Begins"

  

Summer begins  

shedding stress by    

lusting for Father Ralph  

I become Meggie   

slipping into heartbreak  

reliving my own devotion  

veiling my Catholic guilt under Italian lace 

missal clutched in small, white-gloved hand   

crystal Rosary, blessed by Pius XII,  

soothing my restless fingers  

his Irish brogue a supple song   

his blue eyes like laughter

he kneels before me, eye-to-eye   

proposes a date  

he’ll be my father—  

a surrogate breaking bread 

erasing my disappointment 

drying my tears with his finger tips  

tugging my hand to the crook of his arm 

his brilliance dazzles me

my heart worships him 

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman with repost 2023

 

"Summer Begins"

Summer begins     

shedding stress by      

lusting for Father Ralph     

I become Meggie   

slipping into heartbreak       

reliving my own devotion   

veiling my Catholic guilt under Italian lace  

missal clutched in small, white-gloved hand   

crystal Rosary, blessed by Pius XII,    

soothing my restless fingers    

his Irish brogue a supple song 

his blue eyes like laughter 

he kneels before me, eye-to-eye   

proposes a date   

he’ll be my father—   

a surrogate breaking bread  

erasing my disappointment 

drying my tears with his finger tips 

tugging my hand to the crook of his arm   

his brilliance dazzles me

my heart worships him   

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

Every summer, to "come down" from the stress of the school year, I'd retreat into The Thorn Birds for a week. I'd either dust off the novel and reread it, or I'd pull down the series. Either way, the hours spent with these characters put distance between me and my work.