To the Plastic Saints

By Sarah Colby

You have come to me
From the clutter of gumball machines,
A bright trinket dispensed
Into my waiting hand.
Made in a place
where no one can pronounce your names,
molded, pressed out by the hundreds.
Can you still be beneficent
when no hand has carved you,
painted your face, gilded your halo?
Are you weary with waiting
so long in a place
where no one believes in saints,
No penitent reaching for the blessings
offered in your tiny, patient hands?
Can you still intercede
wearing acrylic robes?
Can you carry hope aloft,
Float down a net of safety?

Are two quarters enough for absolution?


About Sarah Colby

Sarah Colby was born in northern New Mexico and raised in the Rocky Mountains. She is married to an active-duty LDS Chaplain in the U.S Army and mother to a son in the Navy. Originally from Northern New Mexico, she has spent many years following her husband, an LDS Chaplain in the U.S. Army, all over the globe, a task she undertakes willingly as she cannot resist this particular man in uniform. Sarah’s war-time experiences have motivated her to be a voice for the mostly untold stories of families and loved ones during these years of protracted conflict. Sarah recently graduated from Sierra Nevada College with an MFA in Creative Writing. Publication credits include the Segullah Journal, the Sierra Nevada MFA Creative Writing blog, Honorable Mention in the Gemini Magazine Poetry Open, and New Millennium Writings. She and her husband are currently stationed at Fort Sam Houston in San Antonio, Texas.

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