She comes in the middle of a Sunday ritual
Stooping-in a flashy red dress as usual
A wooden stick she holds to guide her way
A spot she chooses at the edge of the pew.

She settles down and sits upright
reaches from between her chest
Securely wrapped, a white beaded-rosary
in a cloth of red and white.

She pulls out what seems to be a playing card
with images of the Sacred Heart.
She starts kissing the plastic-covered scapular
And wears it over her head.

From a black bag she carries
a black laced veil she covers her head
And starts reciting her usual litany.

This Lady In Red
every Sunday I see
The same dress, the same ritual
My eyes couldn't stop looking
I just get so entranced by her.

So comfortable, so contented.
Despite her broken back
She raises her leg and rests it on a bench
Listens attentively to the preacher
and murmurs words of praise.