Little Mystic

oh little mystic
with dimpled elbows
brown curls
and face alight

you bow your head over
your prayer book, a bird
dipping its beak to a puddle
for a cool drink

your mother weeps, imagining
your holy thoughts
your future as rabbi

I’m moved, too, by the holy in you —
then you meet my gaze
with lopsided smile and
a look of faraway mischief

you’re praying to the god
of cookies and comic books
you’re thinking of the lollipop
peeking out of your pocket

and you, with your devotions,
are holier than ever
I shake with laughter, until I cry
through murmured prayers
of joy and gratitude

 

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