At the back of the church
a woman rocks a smiling disabled boy.
Her delight in him–not even her own child–is obvious.
“Look at your smile,” she coos,
wiping his face with a soft rag
in a gesture that is more a caress
than anything else.
All this is not distraction
but divine work.
As the choir sings of the incarnation
and the boy’s eyes shine,
the woman knows she is touching
a piece of Heaven.