September 2021
Bio Note: I am the author of two volumes of poetry: Unburial (Kelsay, 2019) and Still Life with City (forthcoming from Pski's Porch). I live in Italy.
Author's Note: I remember my mother telling me, rather late in her life, that she prayed. I had always thought of her as an atheist - or, at best, disinterested in such things - given that my sister and I were raised in an entirely secular household. By the time she told me this, I had had a brief spark of interest in religious practice (read: I went to synagogue a handful of times before disgust set in) and had become a rather militant atheist, which I remain to this day. Nonetheless, I maintain an almost anthropological fascination with religion. "Prayer" must have grown out of these seemingly contradictory concerns. I don't know if I ever saw my mother pray, but the "scene" in the poem is purely fictional.
Author's Note: I remember my mother telling me, rather late in her life, that she prayed. I had always thought of her as an atheist - or, at best, disinterested in such things - given that my sister and I were raised in an entirely secular household. By the time she told me this, I had had a brief spark of interest in religious practice (read: I went to synagogue a handful of times before disgust set in) and had become a rather militant atheist, which I remain to this day. Nonetheless, I maintain an almost anthropological fascination with religion. "Prayer" must have grown out of these seemingly contradictory concerns. I don't know if I ever saw my mother pray, but the "scene" in the poem is purely fictional.
Prayer
What is the secret of such inwardness? She's disappeared into herself again skating across the ice of consciousness her movements indistinguishable from pain. Is this my mother or the Virgin Mary? I do not recognize this pious poise seated at the bed's edge, solitary, indifferent to the tenor of my voice. She mumbles in an ad-hoc prayer tongue of interchangeable syllabic beats spoken, yet simultaneously sung. Meaning is secondary to such feats. Nothing can stand between her and her God. I cannot hope to follow her footsteps regardless how I question, poke or prod; only her eyes will answer from the depths.
Originally published in Free Inquiry
©2021 Marc Alan Di Martino
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