Liam
She moves through her day
like a hush between
the catechism and confession.
Quiet, unassuming, introverted,
yet charged with a grace
that makes dust motes
seem like angels in the light
each dancing to be noticed.
Her presence, too, always gathers vibrancy,
as if she creates
sparks of lightning with her gaze.
People often ask where she comes from.
Strange—
as if the sacred has to carry
an identity document.
True:
she shines like a diamond
at a garage sale—brilliantly,
but gets mistaken for costume jewelry,
and sold to someone
who became nothing more than a paperweight.
Yet even then,
she did not dim.
For the heavenly never complains
about being misnamed
or being mistreated.
She simply waits,
waits to be recognized—
like eternity
wearing time as the disguise.
The Poets Blog 