i’m a wreck with a nice face.
i smile and disappointment is eased by pretty.
church started at 11 and the toilet was plugged and the dishwasher was broken and i stood in my red pjs staring at the clock not able to move but i smiled, and the clock seemed to understand and waved me okay, and so i crawled back into a corner of the day … and when our guests came to lunch and i told them i just hadn’t been able to make it to church, and sorry-smiled, they understood and pretty paved the way and i don’t think i’ve ever known grace for my skin

and my son has my face
how to teach him God-on-cross in this place where beauty saves?

they piled puppies on him, newborn wrinkles, eyes sewn shut and they waited for him to squeal but he just sat quiet and played with the straw and there were seven of us, watching, cameras poised but he just sat and smiled and we forgave the disappointment for the face
and we watched him for 20 minutes playing with straw

he smiles and we swoon for the cute and i’m proud for he’s my son, but where is the real?

to see beyond skin…
to let soul be the guide…

an image of body i need to convey, looking not to the mirror but to folded hands for reason to live