Mom was not perfect—
just ask Dad.
She cleaned the cat’s box.
She cooked. She mopped.
She dusted and straightened.
She smelled of garlic, Lysol and peanut butter.
She threatened us with milk toast when we
faked being sick to stay home from school.
Through the reading of souls,
she ferreted out guilty parties.
With prophetic acumen, she denounced
video gaming and idle sport.
When angry, she spoke in tongues.
By magical transport, she rescued us from
burns and broken bones.
In feats of bilocation, she spied on our dates
though witnesses placed her elsewhere.
Now that she’s gone, I pause to reconsider.
Saints are not fun or popular.
They often comfort, but more often,
they hang like the sword of Damocles
demanding attention be paid
lest we become inured
to the marvelous windfall
of our blessed lives.
A recovering attorney, Lara Dolphin divides her time between looking for Legos and breaking up pool noodle related combat. With the help of her family, she operates a Little Free Library on the front lawn of their rural Pennsylvania home. She currently serves on the staff of Every Day Fiction.