the Catholic Woman


She had no oxygen…so I brought the metal devil to her.

Just a tourniquet for a blistered soul.

She never fared well, hot.

She never fared well, cold.

Quiet were her ways.

A tsunami were the words…she did not say.

One sinner could cling to her devotion.

Just as I, began to sink slowly in her god-fearing lifeboat.

Out and out, by myself, in a turbulent ocean.

Every Sunday metal tank set at ease.

No longer was she…to kneel before the hosanna.

Wheeled, forefront and center, beside other elders…

strands of rosaries, strung together like christmas lights.

A hymn all their own.

One Sunday with all the prayers of faith and health.

One Sunday…when the oxygen ran out.

 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.