(Mark 11: 15-18)
I am a catcher of pigeons,
a lucky one
on this morning of
upturned tables and feathers.
I do not steal coins,
even though they roll to my toes,
even though I was praying
in this house of prayer
that somehow I would not need
always yo be so poor.
And yet I was raised
never to make an offering
of anything
that I did not earn.
It tumbles the world
upside down
that someone like me
should be given
what I have not deserved,
even a serendipitous
bundle of wings,
hollow bones, bright eyes –
a fitting sacrifice
for my newborn child.
Someone said there was anger
on both sides.
I don’t remember that –
only how I felt
when I opened my fingers
to let the bird fly.
Gifts in Open Hands 