Private Altar
By Karen Hartley
The rack was white
Its wrought iron caught
the late afternoon sunlight
and cast its shadow against the old
Adobe wallIt held an arrangement
for all to see
standing tall and regal
A gold filigree cross
nestled in the center of roses
and white flowers
It must have taken hours
to compose
The Private Altar
He came each day
to do his work
Shining shoes and sharing news
with customers young and old
I watched and waited
a long while to see
if anyone noticed his
Private altar
but me
No one did
They all walked away
in their newly polished shoes
Without even a thought of
inquiring about
his holy Muse
His day done he
packed his caddy
and neatly placed the saddle soap
the shoe horn, cloth, polish
and brush -
Then he set it down
so he could touch
that cross ever so gently
I came back several times
to that place
But never saw the
shoe shine man’s face
A few paces away
I could only see him do his work
and hear his pleasant voice
Only watch him quietly
finish his day then stand again
in front of his
Private Altar
and say
what could only be
Thanks
Its rare to see such things
today
And I felt blessed to observe
that display
The next time I went to the
old adobe building
I found they both
had gone
The shoe shine man
and his
Private Altar
had moved on
