("Everyone else gave what they didn’t need. But she is very
poor and gave everything she had. Now she doesn’t have a cent to live
on." Mark 12:44)

limelight sought out the bigpockets in dandy suits–
double
breasted, silk and linen, with tasteful ties–
centerstage focused
on the bigfaiths with bragging rights–
double tongued, proper words
and correctly pure.
Their doctrine and politics were shiny as their
silver,
and their trumpets glinted off the followspot glare as
they blared their bigfist giving.
Radios announced the newtotals on
their networks,
TV’s showed the toteboards in pledged
allegiance–
their reward was sure.

widows shun the light–
stagefright makes their eyes tear
heart beat
they’ve nursed each child, nursed their mate,
now
they shuffle in houseslipper quiet.
They sit on doilied sofas, the
golden brown,
scratch-fabric kind, reading Big Print Reader’s
Digest
and wait for the fervor to fade–
then in the dark, away
from the crowd,
they silently and saintlike
give their lives
away.