The Little Parishioner
the parishioner sits on my lap.
his little legs dangle, his
beat up sandals slip.
i raise his hand with mine.
he pulls it back.
i clap.
his hands, like bookends
put a stop to that.
silently my hands in play
weave together.
my thumbs become doors.
the pointers are steeples.
i open the doors —
the people quietly say, “hello”
i close the thumb-doors.
now all fingers are pressed together
in prayer.
the little parishioner
slides one hand to his left,
the other to his right,
in a righteous hug.
then he curls next to grandma,
like a roly poly
and pulls her butterfly sleeve
over his legs.
my mind wanders, thinking of
yesteryear, with glares
and such, but my little guy
contains himself,
but for a slight mischievous play
with grandma —
who loves him so much.
9/1/2019
Then little children were brought to Jesus for him to place his hands on them and pray for them. But the disciples rebuked those who brought them.
Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.” When he had placed his hands on them, he went on from there.
Matthew 19:13-14
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