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God’s Pesos
Out under the pulsing sun,
In the shimmering green of the endless cane fields,
A yellow bus raises a cloud of dust
As it bumps along a dirt path
And comes to a stop, spilling its cargo.
Soon the procession begins,
And outstretched hands will open
To receive and to give.
What is offered is medicine, food,
A pair of glasses, a toothbrush,
Or (glory, glory!) even a precious silver tube of lipstick--
All paid for with the currency of gratitude.
Eyes meet,
And sometimes hearts.
There is healing here,
And some little golden thing called hope.
Out in the road
Children run, squeal, leap,
Joy circling their heads like light--
Their smiles too bright for mere mortals to see,
(Like looking at God’s face.)
At the edge of the village
A lone figure leans on a fence post,
Watching this miracle.
A child of three chases a stray ball,
Hugs it to his chest,
And looks up with a wondrous grin.
At the man by the fence.
He laughs, then raises his hand,
Waves toward the child
As if in bright and holy blessing.
Perhaps it is Christ who passes here,
Watching his beautiful children,
Gathering their smiles as his most precious treasures,
Pesos in the pockets of God.
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