I knew we’d manage to squeeze another month
when momma’s hand started to itch.
It meant money would soon come.
To her palm she’d kiss and rub it against her bum
to wash where the money was most deserving.
That’s how she proved to God
that she was a believing woman,
that even poor knew the tithes to keep the lights on.

She never put her purse on the floor
lest she’d go broke
with the entire little she had,
and her magic of pulling
at spaghetti to last a week
was one of her gospels.

When in my colorful youth,
I asked if we were rich,
she answered amusingly,
“In love my dear,”

And that was when
I knew how God worked.
Sometimes having to spend more time
giving to Him
than giving to your own children.

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