In grammar school the nuns warned us
that the nearby dam would not hold forever,
that the sins of dirty girls and boys
would someday smash the barrier to bits,
releasing the reservoir’s waters to drown us.
When some kids unearthed a bag of porno magazines during recess one day,
I figured this was it.
I stared at those glossy parts, raw, fleshy, pink, and hard,
giggling in horror, waiting for the floodgates to open
as my friends played Spin the Bottle and flipped the pages, already hooked.
That night I practiced my swim strokes in bed
and prayed the Hail Mary over and over,
asking forgiveness for things I did not yet understand.
I did not wonder why a man might have buried magazines near a playground,
I did not yet know of such sins.