Monday, December 5, 2011

Angel on the Precipice of Goodwill

Every December she slips into a cathedral
No regular, she has only an inkling of rites
Watches and does a careful genuflection
Or reasonable facsimile; some years
She even takes communion – savouring
The wafer – the host – it’s just vanilla

She smiles to herself but feels it’s karma
When she kneels to pray and barks her shins
On the wooden prayer place so unused
To the pose is she; it’s a subtle rebuke
From God, she knows, but figures it’s
Worth it just to be there

Afterwards she goes to the mission;
She is filled with a feeling of almost amorous
Goodwill and ready to serve soup
To the less fortunate
From tables laden with hearty fare
Vegetable soup and crusty breads

She finds herself chuckling at the trivets
Beneath the pots, so like the ones
From her childhood – cast iron
Teapot shapes – sturdy enough
Then and certainly sturdy enough now
Not unlike herself, she thinks.

inspired by Sunday Whirl Wordle 33


  1. You set the words beautifully in your piece. The read is engaging, and the ending draws the reader in even further. Brava!

  2. Thank you both; they were challenging words but I enjoyed tinkering around with them and having a prompt to write to after the bustle and addictiveness of poem-a-day in November. I'm hoping to make the Whirl a regular thing ...