". . . Prayer book and Mother, shot themselves last Sunday." Gwendolyn Brooks The spire of Holy Name Cathedral rose like a prayer above Chicago Avenue. I thumbed a leather-bound book in catechism class, recited the Hail Mary. Fire and devils blazed at night. The nuns told my mother I had a calling. On Scott Street a man lay shot dead in our alley. It was the Gold Coast. They prided themselves on sidewalks safe as shrines. I questioned God, the last to leave the room. Riots flared in Cabrini-Green that Sunday.
Copyright © 2012 by Elise Paschen. Used with permission of the author.