The Birch Tree
Shale-gray morn
Lace in purse
Thin-paged Missal
Scriptural verse.
Rosary rattles
Scooped from table
Will pray ‘fore Mass
If I am able.
Quiet still
Children sleeping
One more coffee
For my keeping.
Back porch view
Conscience-clear
Trees stand guard
There’s naught to fear.
For like the tree
With anchored root
When heresy-hales
I can dispute…
Hold holy ground
White-surpliced birch
“Anchors aweigh!”
I sail to Church
Hilary McRee Flanery
