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6 months ago

MomsBook_asof9.18.17

Outward Signs of Inward

Outward Signs of Inward Grace I met a sacrament once. She lived on Mott Street, New York City, and shared Her neighbors’ poverty But eased their hunger. She taught me how To be honest with myself: I couldn’t walk the walk, Not then, at any rate. Another was a wild Russian Living on the Madawaska River Raising chickens and a pig. “You have no sense of obedience,” She scolded me one day and made me fix A jellied eel for supper. But then she paid My senior year tuition. A third sacrament was untamed, Striding panther-like and pliant Across my autumn years. A priestly man from India, Who taught me how to listen, How to laugh.

Now there’s nothing To hold onto Whenever I take wing.