The Altar

Within Grandma's holy sanctum resided an altar

before which I was in awe, would stand tip toe in worship

adoring the lines of her ornate hand held ivory mirror

and silver hair brush; hands not folded in prayer

but covering my lips as my eyes traveled to the holy grail.

 

Sometimes she would humor me, open it,

musical notes tumbling out and I'd laugh,

imagine I'd ceased to exist amongst the living

and miraculously been transported to an angelic realm,

 

convinced the silver birds with amber eyes

and gem studded feathers would defy the laws of nature,

turn into flesh and bone; tiny creatures

that would fit into my pocket.

 

A gift I'd offer up to God someday while at Mass

as I knew such veneration should be reserved

for Jesus alone.

 

by Margaret Bednar, April 12, 2018

This poem is about: 
Me
My family

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