A Different Approach

A Different Approach

I whisper things to Saint Anthony
when no one else is looking. I dust
his head, polish the child
who caresses his cheek, straighten
him on the dresser, light
a candle for him, make sure
he has a humming fan in the summer
and a tiny warm cape in the winter.

I bring him to breakfast with me,
tell him jokes, draw
him a picture of Padua
to calm his nostalgia.

I’m not the kind of girl to plunk
him upside down on an altar or threaten
to yank the child from his arms or tie
him up nine times and keep him in a box.

You catch more honey
with bees,
or flies with honey—
how does that saying go?