Poetry

The Nurse Irons Altar Linens

I iron the finger towels, the lavabos
the least holy of the altar cloths—still attention

must be paid, edges wrinkle free, the linen folded 
in thirds so the small red cross is on the bottom 
of the top fold, what the priest will see when

the server holds out the towel for the priest to take 
and dry his washed hands before the consecration.