A warm mug rests
in my hands while fairies,
gossamer skirts and wings floating,
chase their little monster through the house.
I watch them run
past empty and full
laundry baskets, over the
clean, unfolded towels and sheets.
The breakfast dishes wait
on the table while I stare
at holiness in bare feet,
Christ in comforting disguise.
Amy Secrist 
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