What Price Love?

for my grandson, Ezra

A monk in a hairshirt is no surprise,
but how much more on a three-year-old

who in a moment of love for his nenna
secreted a bracelet in his slipper, from

his day care center as gift for her and
trod upon for a whole day. Did the plastic

beads dig into his tender foot? Did the five
little piggies squeal and ouch? The answer

lost in that day’s history is found
in the bracelet itself, hung over the sink

in his nenna’s kitchen where she washes
dishes beneath the glow of the pink halo

hanging there. Beyond penance, beyond
pain, this bit of chosen love shines forever.

3 thoughts on “What Price Love?

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