Fresh laundry,
blue jeans
and sweat shirts,
un-pegged from the line.
Wind-whipped, sun-dried,
crackle-stiff
and so clean
they’re innocent.
Fold these clothes,
slip covers
for your child’s soul.
Mate these sock-angels
so they can bear your little Christ up,
lest he dash one of his feet
against a stone.
That’s what parents do,
stand in the gap between
the soiled and the immaculate,
between the dirty and the divine.
(published by Artistry of Life)
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