geezam crickets!

5 a.m.
she wakes up, naturally and
starts washing last night's supper
from last decade's china.
oh, that helen.

she sits.
seventy seven years of the same story,
the early news whispers while
her wrinkles rest.

bells ring on cue and
she places her face in the mirror's middle,
painting olay into the reflection.

on the way to church
she gives me two tic-tacs,
the white kind
that make your mouth feel polar.
hearing them sing "gloria"
is the only reason i'm here,
unless you count the donuts.
i would never insult her.

she is a good woman.
the body and blood of christ.

the grocery store;
i am patient and she gives me
a quarter at check-out
for one of those plastic rings
with a pink star and
my day is made.

she misses her husband
and tells me about betsy.
when her bedroom is empty
i sneak glances at his picture.

i listen to her prayers
after she thinks i'm asleep and
maybe everything really does end with
amen.