I can't get this picture out of my mind
Who hung this picture up there?
Whose hands were the last to touch it?
Fingertips on the wire, breath held
To see if it sat straight against the wall at Alacoque?
Who chose this picture to frame?
And give it a home on this wall?
What purpose did they intend for the picture to hold?
A promise...
A plea...
A sliver of heaven?
Was the picture a gift from a loved one perhaps,
Wrapped in tissue
and then decorative paper, for a christening,
Surrounded by white lace, and whispered prayers?
Or perhaps a gift for a child's First Holy Communion?
Eyes tightly shut,
and
Small little hands folded in prayer.
Was it a Mamma
Who wanted her children to hold on to the faith
That never ceased to help her through hard times—
The faith she clutched tight like rosary beads
In hospital waiting rooms and through midnight fevers?
Was it a Pappa who held,
Beneath the glass in the frame,
A desire to see his children learn their prayers?
The Our Fathers mumbled into pillows,
And Hail Marys said
for the sons who stay out too late.
Was it a grandma who loved her grandchildren
With a fierce, protective embrace?
A grandma who desired that her children always live
Under the watchful protection of our Lord?
Who knew the world could cut,
And so she gave them this comforting image on the wall:
A guard...
A witness...
A reminder of home.
We may never know whose hope
Is sealed under that glass.
Whose fingerprints have long been wiped away.
But it hangs there still.
And I saw it.
And now it will not leave my soul...
Maybe that was the point all along...
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