January 20, 2013
BREAKFAST
Coffee boils in a cup for one and
four biscuits. I wonder what happened to
the victims of fire outside the village. Wailing, fire trucks and smoke, last
night; crying and thieving, too. The morning is silent again, and the walls,
mute. It is another day to write.
Red and green, your vestments,
the Sto. Nino, smiling inside the glass, like Infant Jesus of Prague , a morning
bliss of calm and joy to a street of dark splintered memories of last night’s
burning. Why?
‘I’m here now,” says the angel of
my letters. Those barren days of
nothingness and blank pages, no thoughts, no zeal; that winkle cracked! That
sadness that gripped in the afternoon of a new year, culled me turning rhythmic. Read me again.
Don’t be friable like the
biscuits in the coffee. Smile like a
child!
O Holy Child, hear the pleas of
our hearts. Let us be like you in all
the troubles of our days, serene, asking the Father and believing the hope of
our faith. Let us come to you in joy, in
sorrow, in all the mornings of our hearts, light us with your smile, strengthen
us with your spirit. Wipe away all our
tears.
Most Holy Child, today, we come
to your in prayer.
/rosalinda flores martinez
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