this day was no different than any other,
as we went through the tunnel onto the highway,
I think back to this mornings homily,
how the deacon spoke of this city's cross on the mountain,
I hung onto the rosary beads around my neck,
as if I was still looking for some answers,
and as ignored the smell of exhaust fumes,
as they mixed with the scent of chain smokers,
like a disastrous duo,
and focused my body outside the car window,
clenching my rosary beads I saw the cross on the mountain,
Holding them up the the window,
my cross covered the one on the mountain like it was its lost child.
for five minutes I felt like I had nothing to ask anyone,
I felt like my life was okay,
we drove into another tunnel,
and took a right on the exit ramp,
I never felt more peace in my life,
then I did as we drove home
that night,