A Long Way To Prayer

A Long Way To Prayer

it is a cool cerulean morning the

sunny slope of daylight dawning

I am wrapped in a warm shawl

w/tea at my Carleton House desk

long into the privacy of my wits  

intent to ease a critical torment

the absorbing errand of

writing something down

for the time being, I consent to

the calm will to chew my pencil

this poet, awakened to the perils

stationary in the heart of the world

the itinerary of the sun

I resolve that I am not alone inside

a sound presence tizzies, is resolute

its provident measures preserve me

safely in this scene of spreading paper

I could sit here forever, not a single

sentence strung just for the quietude

akin to the day Light was named

this joy postpones enduring travail

guised as a harbinger, a prompt that

                it is a long way to prayer

en-route I count treasurable things

handwritten letters, polaroid pictures,

a small porcelain box full of sea-glass,

a cracked vase, chipped china from a

pattern used at Christmas luncheons,

paperbacks, hair-pins, and the Muse

my ideal friend, with me while I walk

around & will be with me in the grave

it is a short Horizon

                a long Heaven

write everything down

in the affirming arrangement of prayer

I know all of this to be true in the glow

of cerulean morning, wrapped tight in

wool, the sweetness of steeped tea &

a great gift to acknowledge

& all of it abolishes an incarnate woman

                Me

**

I have been feeling like someone kicked me square in the gut lately. It’s always good to play with words when things happen to your heart, your psyche, your spirit. I’ve been trying for the last few days to peck. This poem, the result. It was a slow burn but it served its purpose: healing.

It’s interesting, when I grapple with unpleasantness; my poems tend to be laced with a spiritual tinge. I notice this about myself, perhaps it’s a subconscious defense mechanism, an ideal friend guiding me along as the poem suggests? I tend not to be creative when I’m unhappy but this one pieced together but only because I needed to write something; even if it was something small, something messy, something spare. Some days it is a long way to prayer, but today I skimmed poetry and that was good.

In propinquity,
Nic