Ms. Chatterley

It’s true I had spiritual aspirations. In my childhood you could park in the middle of the street on Sundays as long as you believed in God. So I used to deny that affair with Ms. Chatterley. I used to pray for forgiveness after violent encounters involving my mirror. And for many years I even pretended to be my father’s daughter. I fixed grease firm in my hair to hold him in place. The wild strands I cut short until they followed the others. But eventually we were all ticketed. I still think about Ms. Chatterley, my habit of spelling out certain words in front of the dead.