The last time I went to Confession

The priest reminded me that
Saints don't become saints

They become saints
not necessarily because 
they're extra-special
but because they are

Like a crocus
forging on despite the fact
that the last snows have yet to fall.

Like the cardinal
singing his Heart out regardless of the fact
that we've all heard that tune before.

The back door of my van
which insists upon opening at the 
slightest joggle of the key fob
though this is not supposed to happen.

My children endlessly calling
mom mom mom mom mom
look at me look at me look at me
daring me to sit up and watch
despite the fact I've seen the matinee.

to show up
facts be damned
forcing even non-interested parties
to take note.

Choosing to believe that there is 
much worth seeing
much worth sitting up for
much to observe on the riverbank opposite apathy

despite the bone tiredness in my soul.

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