Canonization

[before you read this poem, i want you to know this: i wrote it because i am thinking about topics related to saints, the departed, death, and the human condition, except not as depressing as that sounds, because of an art gallery happening at my church around oct/nov. ask me more about it some time. but this poem, this poem, is also for my dear grandpa bob, who passed away two years ago this month and who now sits in heaven, i am sure. but keep reading, because it is also for you.]

You are the patron saint of backyard gardens.
Reminding us that each carrot
is a miracle.
Dirt covered hands guiding
tender young fingers
towards ripe beans, tomatoes,
beetles.

You are the patron saint of new decks.
the guardian of homemade swings,
the protector of patios,
Carrying citronella candles
to our rescue
on the bug-treacherous lawn.

In your white khaki vest
You are the patron saint of the casual childhood angler.
The one brave enough to hold
the worm,
and the hook,
and the fish, if ever caught.

You are the patron saint of ancient trucks.
Protect us from bench seats
with afterthought lap belts.
Haul our scrap wood to the dump.

Look after
Our nasturtiums.
Our watering cans.
Our label makers.
Our boxes of washers and bolts.