Altar Boy

My son wears the robes of an altar boy.
His hair still stuck up in the front corner,
reminding me of my baby brother.
His eyes stare over the tops of heads
as he focuses on the whiteness of the ceiling,
Tries not to distract from his job
And I smile at such innocence,
Such beauty in the light that gathers in his eyes.
The tabernacle of himself almost now surrounded in an aura,
as he folds his hands
In a prayer, bows,
And takes in Jesus, consumes Him
Up there by the altar.
I pray to Mary, mother to mother,
To grow both our sons inside.
To model the goodness that projects.
To shower my son with the radiance of love
From the holy family,
And from his guardian angel
That protects and identifies our son,
Standing in prayer by Father,
as our Michael.

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