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