Shrine on a Wardrobe Door

Brought from
a Christmas bazaar,
hand made from clay
and a glazure icing
the shrine is placed now
at the crossroad
of a wardrobe door
and my father's sight

A wild flower shining
like the sun is on the shrine
front (my great grandmother
must have known
its name and what
it was helpful for).

The Holy Mother, young
and white from head
to toe, her robe
a mist, some milk and
snow in one. On the bough
of her forearm
The Holy Child is sitting
- a dove and an owl.

The faces of them two
- the mother and the son -
have faded to the point
you wonder whom
they represent. Your heart
has no doubts, though -
I know you know.

The roof is made of tiles
brown like
the earth
in the place
where you grew
when you were 
a child and
a tree.

I pray for your safe trip 
home as you fall 
asleep.



(Started on 8.12.25 with only a title, written on 1.01.26, edited on 20.01.26.)

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