Are you lonesome tonight? Do you miss me tonight?
              Elvis is alive and she’s female: Madonna

In the convent, y’all,
I tend the gardens,
watch things grow,
pray for the immortal soul
of rock’n roll.

They call me 
Sister Presley here.
The Reverend Mother
digs the way I move my hips
just like my brother

Gregorian chant
drifts across the herbs,
Pascha nostrum immolatus est*
I wear a simple habit,
darkish hues,

a wimple with a novice-sewn
lace band, a rosary,
a chain of keys,
a pair of good and sturdy
blue suede shoes.

I think of it 
as Graceland here,
a land of grace.
It puts my trademark slow lopsided smile
back on my face.

Lawdy.
I’m alive and well.
Long time since I walked
down Lonely Street
towards Heartbreak Hotel.

*Christ, our passover, has been sacrificed