My grandmother bargained with you like a grocer: "$5 to the poor for my old sunglasses," a better deal than going to Saks for new ones. The communion of saints works much like the cosa nostra, & you sure got your piece, you adopted Italian, the way she talked. Hometown folk-Catholicism. A funny church, transfiguring celibate autists to fill the eco/psychological niche of household gods in corner shrines for housewives and lonely children. I'm not quite like her. Something feels so uncanny about your statue, holding the holy child comfortably on your hip, like my grandma held me, the way I held my siblings, the way I'll maybe hold my grandchildren, should I be so lucky. Where'd a monk get practiced at holding babies? I'd argue with you (I know you could argue, doctor, and shut me up, so well-read, so well-spoken) but I can't pray to you, I'm struck dumb in trying praying for myself--but for my grandmother? Patron saint of everything lost & stolen-- does that make you patron of every loser?-- for $5, I know what my grandmother's missing. Pray that what she wants finds its way returning.
Discussion about this post
No posts
Seems like a monk could get practiced at holding babies by growing up with siblings and then hanging out with poor people