Note: Prayer has been a part of my life since I was a child kneeling beside my mother. Doesn’t much matter to me whether a prayer is spoken aloud, whispered, or merely offered within my heart and mind. It is a source of meditation and comfort, and comes naturally to me in good times and bad. It shows up in my writing from time to time, and I am happy to share these poems in which prayer plays a part.
 
returning
 

how do i tell you this
that i must not die first
that the thrill of jet-thrust
has yielded to the quiet fear
of not returning
 
the irritation of check-in
with its attendant complaints
swallowed in the knowing
how trivial it is against
the turmoil you would face
the devastation if this time
i could not return
 
the captain's command
to turn off all devices
rings painfully with
the possibility that we
might never speak again
that all our past conversations
are doomed to fade away
if i do not return
 
seat belts, carry-on bags
personal items
oxygen masks
become a litany
a rosary
each bead a new
prayer for protection
if i am not catholic
will saint christopher
listen anyway
or punt my request
to a supervisor
who will decide simply
if i return
 
how do i still this new misgiving
that threatens me
mocks me with the thought
that life is not now
was not ever
in my control
that in this flying metal tube
i could be removed
from your daily menu
without warning, without
hope of safe return
 
this is a foreign feeling
with ragged, sharp edges
that pull at my confidence
scrape my faith raw
knowing it is pointless
to worry, knowing
i will anyway
until the front door
announces my return

 



the sun is setting in california
 

across the low hills to the west
the crests are muted by smoke
from fierce, deadly fires
that burn and burn and burn
until we hurt from clenching our fists
hoping they can be contained
before the next house, barn, town
explodes in flame
erasing memories
erasing lives
 
the sun itself cannot bear to watch
and so descends below the haze
dimming as he dies
brilliant yellow
agonied orange
blood red
until he is buried from sight
 
spared the fire's path i pray
that these oblations from earth herself
will ascend to heaven quickly
find audience there, and answers
in the tears of angels,
quench the uncaring flame
and grant us watered peace
 

 


turning the corner
 

night and day and night again
sleep comes or hides randomly
i am awake, i am asleep, i dream
and always in my dreams
 
my heart battles my insecurities
projects onto roiling clouds of fear
each good deed i have done
each kind word ever spoken
 
painting muscle back over bone
laid bare by careless trespasses
laying new skin over old wounds
carved deep by thoughtless gestures
 
etching prayers i could never say aloud
into the cumulus vapor
comforting me with the gentle hope
 
that mother drew to cover my young fears
until the words become my own
spilling from my heart, out across my lips
into flames of pained petition
 
i am old, make me young enough to dance
i am afraid, grant me peace, and faith
i am a prayer, turning the corner from childhood
fill my lamp with oil that never fails
 
trim the wick, fuel the flame, shield my heart
forgive me when i do not know
what harm i might have done
 

 

​
writing a prayer
 

unlike the daily unrehearsed words
that flow from my lips in torrents
cascades of thank you's and requests
ending with a quick amen and then
off to other worries
 
this prayer will take some time
because the pen is slower than the tongue
the fingers can only type so fast
and this prayer must be written
carefully thought out, revised
until every word is placed
in its own sacred holder
lined up like candles
that spring to light as they are read aloud
vowels held onto tightly
like the bell-ringer's hands
cling to the aged rope that ties
his effort to heaven
letting go only when the next rounded sound
is ready to ring into the night sky
 
finished, my prayer will lie face up
on the make-shift altar of my dresser
waiting for angel-friends to find it
perfect it and chant it softly
adding the harmony that my heart knows
but my voice cannot carry
until the last consonant flickers
and fades like candle smoke
ascending, always ascending
to where prayers are heard
and answered