gate, image by Monika Baechler, on Pixabay
Vespers and Old Sticky Gates
Praise for the moment
I pushed the right button
on the blue tooth device.
Praise for the chanting monks
that ride along to the garden
to tuck the chickens in for the night.
Praise for crooked old gates
that creak psalms
when the wind blows.
Praise to you,
Lord Jesus Christ,
for not letting me
lock myself out.
__________
The Demolition of Enchantment
Every time we raze a cathedral,
scatter the stone and sell the carvings,
auction stained glass
to Wall Street brokers
who need it for their
summer homes in the Hamptons,
the sobs of angels
and Saint Thomas
are heard at the stroke of midnight.
But the guards with leashed hounds
and side arms,
who pace the sidewalk
behind the gates of hell
get a wage increase
and a pair of new boots.
__________
Adoration in the Cold
It’s after Friday morning Mass
with twelve diehards
spread across the church
before the Blessed Sacrament.
January in Wyoming,
and Father is trying
to cut back
on the utility bill.
Not to be deterred,
I’m wearing mittens
and the lady in front of me
is wrapped in a blanket.
Her quiet murmurs
rise as usual to engage her love
and I can almost see Him
stroking her hair.
Please help, Lord. All I can manage
is a water fountain gush of praise
frozen in midair, and what feels like
flicks of ice blasting my cheeks.
Thaw me with your grace
like you do for Powder River in spring,
when her heart breaks wide open
and overflows her banks.
Lyndi Waters is a winner of the Frank Nelson Doubleday Memorial Writing Award, the Eugene V. Shea National Poetry Contest, and is a Pushcart Prize nominee. She
is a practicing Catholic, mother, grandmother, and the author of Butcher Shop of Wild Forgiveness: Poems. Lyndi lives in Wyoming.
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