“And for you, I think, a religious life,′ she said, a calm certainty all over her crisscrossed face. She didn’t even bother with a question mark. My calling was so obvious; it was written all over me. Two years later, I would be living in my own convent as an order of one, typing poetry in the deep glowing hours to a stranger. Four close walls and cathedral space within, arriving with a rush to myself every moment.”
