by Loius Simpson
I didn’t stay for the closing
hymns and prayers. I felt
out of sorts, so I left.
Someone was before me
at the door: a child, gazing
at a spot on her wrist.
She said, “Can you help me?”
“What is it?”
“A ladybug,” she said.
So I opened the door,
and she said, “It jumped off.”
We stood looking around.
“It’ll be all right,” I said.
She went in, and I left,
taking care where I stepped.
I didn’t stay for the closing
hymns and prayers. I felt
out of sorts, so I left.
Someone was before me
at the door: a child, gazing
at a spot on her wrist.
She said, “Can you help me?”
“What is it?”
“A ladybug,” she said.
So I opened the door,
and she said, “It jumped off.”
We stood looking around.
“It’ll be all right,” I said.
She went in, and I left,
taking care where I stepped.
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