Time-eaten edges fray,
color fades from white to gray,
black to ash.
Where crucifix rubbed,
where kneeling roughed
the skirt away,
over time, the old habit
the good sister wore for
sanctification by abnegation,
wore away,
from fervor to rote.

But an old Nun and old habits
die hard,
like biting nails
or chewing tobacco
or caressing the palms
of the Savior’s hands
or inserting her fingers
into His wounded side,
the only penetration
she ever needed
to feel.