small stones

I know well enough
to leave the boulders alone:
life, health, breath,
salvation.
But surely the pebbles
(just a few)
I can keep in my grubby fist?
Breakfast dishes,
nail-trimming,
and the ingredients
for a simple pasta dinner.
These tiny tasks
need not be grace,
I'm prone to think --
until I fall
like Goliath.

liturgy in utero

Cheek to belly pressed,
he speaks his sister
blessings,
the little priest.
A litany of baby love
he sings into the dark,
a brother monk.
"Big, strong baby girl!"
his final benediction:
Alleluia and amen,
my prophet son.

bonding dance

It was never a fight,
you against me,
but I fought like mad
for you,
or so I thought.
And learned by bruises
not to battle love
into existence,
ex nihilo:
we both lost.
Now then, a new way:
like boxers in a
ballet class,
we bob and weave
just out of habit
while the teacher
sings out "Grace!"