In the red and white church of
my bones I carry the matrix of
small ministries:
I sing to all kinds of babies,
curving my air into the
tiny spoons of their ears;
I pick up so carefully
each eyeless jewel of an
earthworm caught on cement
and return it to the sentient
soil;
I speak greenly like daylight to
plants; I always try to comfort a
hurting animal, even
invertebrates.
And I look back with staggering love
at the silent lost child I was
and tell her she is so precious.
J. Pratt-Walter, © 2024
