The Fire Within Me

 I cower in my house

Afraid to acknowledge my faith

I sowed a tiny crucifix and a miraculous medal in the ligning of my coat

The whispering wind tells a tale of an old man  taken to the hospital 

He was beaten nearly half to death for praying the rosary in public

I knelt down and cried 

Is that the extent of my devotion to Christ?

In my shame, I walk the beaten path, rosary in hand asking for Our Lady's intercession

I pray in silence, but I do it in public

Maybe the fire will grow in me and the faithful rise up to  set fire to the world

Prayer Before the Game

 It's 45 degrees out

The coldest morning of early fall

In the far left of the field,

The players kneel along with their coach 

And ask for the blessings of our Lord

Invisible

 What is it about me that makes people run?

The polite questions and pleasant hellos are for them

When I ask a question, any question it never seems to get answered

The walls swallow me whole

No since screaming

No one will hear me

The Holy Spirit comes to me in the rain

And reminds me of my friends in heaven

Suffering for the Wrong Reasons

 Suffering is good

Righteous

But how do we know when its not working?

When our suffering fills us with hate and doubt

When we turn inwards because it's safe

When suicidal thoughts consume us

When we seek the approval of others and not God

Shrine

 Death and destruction seem imminent

Bombs are getting more frequent

The crops are failing, the animals are dying

I dream of flying

Seeing the world at my feet

Up there it is peaceful

At eight years of age, I am comfortable with the possibility of death, so long as heaven awaits me

With a defeated face and a hopeful heart

We walk, mother and daughter to the shrine

My father built it, a the priest was house arrest

Kneeling on pebbles we pray the Angelus each day

Asking Our Lady to stop the war

Most days I don't see the point

But at eight, I don't have the wisdom of a priest, a sense of duty like a father, nor a heart like a mother

Woman Ironing

I woke up believing it was a different time
A quieter time
A time when silence inspires us
A time when families spent time with each other
Then I saw the date
The Church linens are fully dry
Although the priest won't be needing them for quite some time
I iron
And look out the window as children play and mothers sing

The Mill

$2.19 for a day's wage
I work all day risking limbs, barefoot
For what, a loaf of bread and 2 potatoes
Somehow this ain't right
I'm ready to get married, have babies
You tell me, how am I supposed to find a husband
No time but Sunday to talk a man
I dream of marrying a preacher
Of course, I'd still be poor
But, people would look up to me
Want to shake my hand
Not look at me as if I were a discarded piece of thread
Two days ago
A little girl came into the mill
She was so tiny, she looked like a doll
All smiles
I wish she were mine to dress up
She died that day
Something went wrong
No one cried, not then anyway
Everyday I pray to make it to Sunday
The only day I got no fear