Does The Number Of Rosaries Owned Make The Mark Poem by Sarah Mkhonza

If my rosary could talk
It would tell the world
How many 'Hail Marys' I
Prayed to get this guy.
This girl in mission school
With nuns wearing the habit
And blinded by my sheepishness
Got on her knees in the grotto
Of life and life to pray that if
He were a fly I would be milk and
He would fall into the jug and
Teaspoon in hand I would pick
Him and into the garbage can
Of life we would go away from
The eyes of the nuns. Our kisses
All over us like the milk would
Have us wrapped up and rosaries
Prayed would be forgotten in the
Mystery of our love.

As life would have it the boy never
Even as much as looked my way and
I blame my thin scrawny torso for no
Hips round came to aid my
Scrawny self with a curvaciousness,
The African urn of a figure well
Known to kill all African boys.

Now that I have forgiven time
I stand asking for the passage
To heaven for this sin of love
Only happened in my mind
For the ten rosaries I have owned
Kept me sane enough not to die
Of his love. Having survived I
Ask only to see Mary for I hailed
The one who is full of grace and
Blessed and asked to be with me
In that hour of dying for this
Boy's love. Now immortalized like
A statue I stand rosary in hand and
Ask if I will see her who never
Made it happen for me at my hour
Of greatest teenage need. What will
Tenrosaries owned earn me I ask
If I will not even see my female
Idol. She has to deliver in the
Next world and not make my chest
Burn throughout life for I still
Pine for him in my octagenarian
Years.