In The Midst Of Grace
Peace to the right of me,
compassion to the left of me,
Maundy Thursday everywhere.
I’m here as the designated driver
with a promise to behave. My
daughter, a newly minted Catholic,
has found a safe haven for her soul
which needs tethering in something
besides her self. Mass comes to an end,
answering at least one prayer.
Peace in Christ’s love is pressed
upon us from neighbors we’ve never
met, which is more of a spotlight than
my daughter can bear, so I smile a
few words to divert attention my way.
A vague calm passes over her face;
the spirit talked about so much tonight
escorts us to the door without comment.
On the way home she asks:
“Why didn’t they wash everyone’s feet?”
Carl Mayfield lives and writes in the American Southwest. Recent work can be found in Plum Tree Tavern, Abbey, Skidrow Penthouse.
Amethyst Review 