As a child, I had a patron saint,
St. Theresa of Lisieux, the Little Flower.
the saint of small things:
a washed dish, raked leaves,
clothes hung on the line,
Sometimes I remember
that my life is like all others,
the past gone, the present here,
the future, what future?
Sometimes I remember
to look for the present
under the pepper tree.
There I find a green prayer
in the rustle of leaves,
a brown one, as silent bugs
burrow in dry earth,
or white, like the cat,
stretched warm in the sun,
still, on the stone wall.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjPJMXHF60QviX9GCqFmYFG8RYNBFD4D-SlPBvh2apigiHL33wvJxtxfmM8T70kUpZKQegJ6OnoQVJ38MsadxA5tKkmf8K2owZz4HDHEixIGC41Ig7RoeX8llEGXwkXML1qYSdFOgMpVw/s200/Tere_Sievers.jpg)
Art credit: St. Theresa of Lisieux as a child by unknown photographer (originally black and white).
She was my favorite saint, too. I discovered her at 16--me a boy and athletic with devotion. She was mischievous, courageous and intense.
ReplyDeleteSomething came alive in me, reading her life. Something deeper even than my repressed sexuality. It is still there.