Mother Teresa and I Are Upgraded to First Class
An abrupt hush
descended and a host
of semi-discreet stares
fixed on me, being
led ahead. Irate
gray clouds pressed
the portholes. I feared
the smell of my fear
had been unloosed
and quickly buckled in.
But it was the woman
behind me compelling
the eyes, the elderly one
in the whitened face
and certainty of a saint,
the frailty and the flint-
now I know I'm safe
on this leg of my flight,
even without kissing
her blue and white habit
like a prayer shawl.
Copyright © Roy Jacobstein All rights reserved
Mid-American Review, 2006
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