hand-sanitizer & other
alternatives to
holy water 

cuticle-sting-- 
clamor-- din in
each paper cut
compromise left in
my hands-- oh 
if you do not
have holy water or
a church you can
visit 
you can always
substitute hand-
sanitizer-- across
your palms & round
your wrists--
that's where the 
germs try to
creep back up your hand 
again & in middle school
that was when everyone
started to worry
if they were sanitary--
did we go
mad in the white neon
across linoleum?
we each wondered
how we managed to 
get so dirty &
i stood
front & center
to the baptismal
foundation each
Saturday mass to
dip middle & index 
finger in cold 
water-- lady bug
floating
to the surface--
drowned in
the veins of god--
take your hand sanitizer
& make the sign of
the cross--
your forehead--
cross your heart twice
for safe keeping--
how did we get
so open-mouth
dirty? 
& i would feel
the cool gel--
aseptic & lucid
in between my fingers--
fingers dry &
sidewalk-cracking--
winter smudged 
my finger prints 
& poured 
hand sanitizer over
my long brown hair 
& in the girl's 
bathroom i would
stand-- soaking
paper towels 
in hand sanitizer
& dabbing them
between each stand--
they girls had
said i had greasy 
hair-- that i
should wash myself
more & 
as they said
this my nose prickled
with their sterile
holy-water
small-- palms
& wrists--
burn me clean--
singe each 
fiber of hair
until the baptismal
fountain over flows
& the floor
of the church is
slippery
& the lady bugs
gasp for
air-- here's the 
thing
about holy water
& hand sanitizer--
they only leave
you feeling like
you need to
wash again &
again & again
& back then 
i would take three
showers a day
in the hopes the
other girls would
survey
my body one
day &  find me empty--
prisitine
enough to her skin
alone--
if you do not
have holy water
the pain throbbing
in your frayed fingers
is worth 
immaculation--
the process of
learning that there
is no part
of a girl's body
that is allowed
to not 
hum with dull
pain--
oh & the boys were
dirty too
& in 7th grade
we all 
sanitized
the cuts-- 
peeled away  
scabs to 
let blood seep
into the baptismal
fountain 
how dare you let
god see
you so like
this-- your blood
in the water
will bring sharks
oh i say
let them
come-- i'm
unclean & 
am un-needing of
a substitute for
holy water--
my god has
soil under
his finger-nails--
that's where 
he grew me--
black asphalt
girt &
backyard
muck
if you are
out of holy water
you can substitute 
the rain puddles
in the 
driveway--