Woven | Sara Denson

my tired eyes caught the sparkle.
it was lurking in my desk drawer,
left there from a desperate request
for a little assistance on homework.
my chipped nails trace the ancient stones.
they try to touch the light the beads reflect.
but they suddenly stop at the cold metal crucifix.

my shakiness from caffeine begins to subside.
the rosary, now woven between my fingertips,
brought back memories of when i bought it.
i was sight seeing in vatican city when i encountered
it in a church with relics, whose importance i cant comprehend.
now, thousands of miles away, the beads and cross help me sleep.