THE Reverend Anne

As I've mentioned, our favorite Church Rector is soon to leave us. However, she graciously invited parish members to meet one last time (for an hour even!), and I had the pleasure to shoot the shit with her one last time.
I brought coffee and a Balvenie Double cask for a parting gift.
One of the things she asked me was what I thought about her taking vacations and having guest Priests in during her absence. Hence, less of a poem and more of a character sketch (could work as a theater monologue), I invite you to spend a moment of conversation, in the choir room, with;

THE Reverend Anne

"You may call me THE Reverend Anne,"
She looked about 70, stood 5’4",
  maybe weighed 95 lbs., her nose perked up
With her hands clasped together before her chest,
  the old way they taught girls in finishing Schools

"But I understand your Rector will be back next week,
  so I don’t know if ever I’ll be returning,"
She had three suitcases in the choir room,
   whereas the average visiting Priest brought (lemme count...?) none!

In the unstated Episcopal bylaws,
  we don’t ‘do’ church in summers,
The Nave is locked all the week,
  the summer sun on the roof makes the communion wafers rise like a bread oven,
And the only reason we do it is;
  the lapsed Catholics will feel put out,
  and we’ve more of them at our church than Episcopalians

"It’s not easy, they make us retire after thirty years,
One doesn’t know if we’ll be called in with any regularity,
  and it’s always a long drive,
Still, it’s not like when we were younger,
  my husband and I both worked in separate parishes,
And we had our kids, always driving back and forth,
  never spending enough time with either,
Now I’m retired, the kids are grown up and moved on,
  and still never enough time with either,
  now short visits are all I get,
Don’t you think?"

  I answered,
"I was just wondering if you needed help with the suitcases,"
"No, I’ve got them, actually yes, I’d be glad you could,"
   I shouldered two, she carried the lighter,

And I’m guessing her thoughts then were like yours are now