The Prayer Book

19 Nov

At the bottom of a dusty attic box,

I found my mother’s prayer book,

Yellowed now and worn. Complete with

Heavy duty Latin Masses,

Proper of the Season,

Mum would read the book in bed

Me snuggled up beside her

Watching as she turned the pages,

Cleaner’s fingers rough and reddened.

Deep in her devotion; strong

Within her stricken body, widowed

Motherhood, she read.

And now I hold the book

My mother’s hands no longer can.

Complete with all the prayers

I’ll ever need.

I settle down to read

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: