I spied her genuflection at the foot of her bed
Each dusk and every dawn
The waxy dresser top littered prayer cards
The legal tender of relief
St. Peregrine patron of cancer
Your lip sync smudges the foot of god
The robe numbs the touch of
“The Wonder Worker”
With the emptiness of myths.
St. Monica, patroness of mothers
Your shoulders unfit to bear maternity
The aged brow of sorrows
Framed by the veil of devotion
Makes misery a contrived hope
Her grip wilts each amulet
Coated with a lackluster vinyl
Impervious to finger prints.
I laid her memorial card
In the shade of her pillow.
