African Angelus

K.K. Adams

The child cries,
and in one swift movement,
the mother, stately and brown,
reaches out her smooth, slender arm,
swaddling the babe
onto her back.

The little one,
now bends, nestling
instinctively into each curve,
with every movement of her mother’s
work, careful and deliberate
as prayer.

I observe this
habit of safety, perfected
over time, seeing more than
natural grace at work, as child learns,
in comfortable rhythm, assent
to the divine.