Goose Girl

St. Jude showed up 
at my door today
with a little package
tightly wrapped
in pale blue paper,
adorned with
a large clump
of curled white ribbon
(he’d obviously 
had it wrapped
at the store.)
 
I was surprised to see him;
I was unaware he made house calls.
It seemed impolite not
to invite him in
even though we’d barely
been on speaking terms
for decades.  I offered
him tea, but he asked
for whiskey
so I got out the bottle 
I hold in reserve. 
After a couple 
shots each, he urged
the present on me.
I unwrapped it 
slowly, to annoy him.
 
It was a Hummel figurine
a girl with two geese.
I glanced up at him
across the table, saying
nothing, waiting.
He threw up his hands.
 
“Look,” he said, “I know
you’re ticked at me,
I’ve never answered 
your prayers.  But
you ask for such hard stuff
 
peace in the middle east
rain in California
progressives on the supreme court
true love
a bumper crop 
of heirloom tomatoes--
it’s too much.”
 
“But that’s why I come to you:
you’re the patron of lost causes.”
 
He touched the figurine:
a small rosy-cheeked child
a red kerchief attempting
to tame her flying braid
puffed white sleeves
a yellow apron
two devoted geese
leaning against her belly
eager for her direction.
 
“Geese can be fierce,”
he told me.
“Because this little girl
needs protecting. 
 
“But you, 
sweetheart, 
you are stronger
than you 
can even
imagine.
You don’t need 
a goose.
You got this.”
 
Photo by Sanjoy Saha at Unsplash