Calling

Walking in with that
comforting sameness,
two black triangles with
hints of white, the nuns come
through the double doors,
out of the sunset into the
cold hallway light,
shifting side to side
in heavy black shoes,
gold rimmed glasses,
little wisps of gray peeking
out from their habits--
they amble past quietly,
until, suddenly, a
lilting Latin rhythm,
all blinding sunshine
and undulating bodies,
clear even in ring-tone
miniature, escapes from
beneath the dark folds,
sultry and sweet.