They say Padre Pio could be in two places at once.
Then again, I may be mistaken,
It may have been St Francis of Assisi –
I never was good at remembering the saints.

We had a picture of Padre Pio
Above the door going into the back porch,
The Sacred Heart in the living room,
The Pope (John Paul II) in mammy and daddy’s bedroom.
How they ever had 7 children I’ll never know.
For a time there was a little Holy Water font
As you walked in the front door.
I think it was replaced by a key rack.

Granny’s key rack was a Holy Water font.
With Novenas and prayers in it;
Rosary Beads dangling down the sides
Tinkling a tune to the wind
As they hit against the requisite red candle-
Which was never lit.
Its still there.

At the top of her stairs was St Francis
With a lamb.
She had a holographic Holy Picture
There a long time ago.
When we would pee in her cold, blue bathroom
We were afraid
Knowing we would have to pass the scary picture
It was Christ dying on the cross.
His sad, tortured eyes followed you wherever you went,
Like something straight from Poe.
Religious figures watching always.

At the convent there was Christ on his cross
Above the stairs where the main entrance was.
Always looking trés triste, sombre, sad Jesus
Made me feel guilty, more a sinner, less saved.
Iosa, Iosa; I loved that song – still do.
I have beads in my room. The only trace of those days
When all the relics, icons and charms of the day were
Distributed by travelling missions. it was always the best mass
When those trucks selling everything a good catholic home would want sailed into town.
Pictures of himself and statues of every saint imaginable.
Holographic pictures of Mary, Mary Magdalene, and some other Mary. Rosary beads, Holy water from Medjugorie
It was a brilliant time when they would visit with their reds and yellows
Flowing from bright lights
I am the Lord of the dance said He, and I will lead you all
Wherever you may be and I will lead you all in the dance said He’
That song made me happy.