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Poetry | February 2004

Holy Water

By Bethany Torode

This morning I was showered
with the blessing of the new year.
With head bowed
I watched the droplets fly
and sanctify. Later
the chub cheek of my son
rubs against mine in fun
annointing me with slobber
and my husband’s quick kiss
leaves a trace of his element
on the corner of my lips.
All, the moisture of grace.

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