the meth addict
sits on a steel cot
in the county jail
knotting a toilet paper rosary.

a gift for the protesters who share her space.

the church ladies come
and wag their fingers
and cluck their tongues
and wave their bibles

and tell her she must be saved.

at night she dreams of angels and
of boys who bring her flowers.

the white rosary hangs
like a buddhist prayer flag
above my soft bed.

fragile as a
holy man.

solemn as a sacrament.