Holy Faces

Lists
are useful,
your little
helpers,

but they can
turn on you
like cornered
dragons,
breathing fire
and threatening
to consume you,
or
death-faced
ghouls
hovering over
your pillow
at 4 a.m.
reminding you
that your
slovenly habit of
“tomorrow”
never comes
and will bury you.

Or the lists
that begin with
the Coronapocalypse
and Hurricane Ida
shutting off
the electricity to
New Orleans
because of unpaid
carbon taxes
and fires wilding
through
deer and antelope
playgrounds.

It’s enough to
bring you to
your knees
at the edge
of the bridge
and tell
that angel Clarence
to take his
Wonderful Life
and shove it.

But there’s
one more list.

Faces.
Holy Faces.

Saints who
live with you
or call you
Dad
or sing
or dance
or play
for you
or dine with you
or banter
or write for you
or walk with you
or check
your groceries
or heal
your wounds.

If I move
the Holy Faces
to the top
of my lists,

at least
for today
I am saved.

(Photo Notre Dame des Oliviers; UnSplash)