enacting prayer

enacting prayer

1.
some days
our prayer
is a pot of butternut soup
thrown at the wall
saying no more
no more
no more

2.
there is no sky this morning
drizzle mist has claimed the coast,
pooled in deep valleys and stretched
thin across the hills, ghosting
trees and goose flight.

loud with with birds in the cocooned mist
we unfold our elbows, cup warm tea,
loosen our skin to the morning.

3.
i thought i loved her/e
before i came –
before i moved
daughters and mare,
table and benches to be her/e,
i thought i came here because
i (abstract)loved wanted
needed her/e –
but it turns out i came because
i needed to love her/e (act action actively) –
that the loving i needed to do was her/e –
that here is where i do my loving.

4.
in spring, weeding among the greens –
garden billowing with sap growth
and humming with life – hands
burrowing among the stems
sorting chickweed and dandelion –
weeds that feed from knotweed
and hairy-stemmed unnamed tenacity
that will strangle tomatoes by summer

and i know i know among
all this awakening that adders too
have woken from winters
long sleep in hollows and caverns
and quiet, and in among the rummaging
and pulling and soil shaking

i mutter my prayers and
my thanks to the serpent gods
for being mindful of me
as i am of them,
to take care of my children
as i take care of theirs,
in spring, weeding
among the greens.

5.
and what if the body
ails. what if blood like rivers
slows – laden microplastic,
algal bloom, bottles and bags
and silt sludge
sediment.

what if the body ails ,
what if skin that has ached
for its own undoing
on moss bark mist mornings
is now un-doing –
swaddling in comfort
and the memory
of what was.

6.
friday night, late before sleep –
rain thrumming the roof
and windows and leaves.
friday night late before sleep
a sunbird – day bird,
jewel of the morning bird
flutters moth against the window.
thumb-small with wings
and vulnerable to the night,
i ask her what she is doing
out past 11 in the rain –
why she waited so late
to seek shelter – she does not answer
i take her rebuke.

who am i to question someone seeking refuge
in a living of the world beyond my understanding.

out in the rain i stilled those panicked wings against the glass.
folded she sat quiet in one closed hand
while i made a nest of a mohair hat –
locked her safe in the wardrobe for the night.

morning here breaks first with birdsong,
then with light –
in the space between i unfold my hands,
gesture an open book, a please and a thank you,
and she darts grey winged
a forest prayer
to the wakening sky.

7.
and what of the prayers
we do not speak –
do not voice or
shape with tongue and thought.
what of the hands
and knees soil prayers,
what of forehead
to the forest floor prayers,
what of the catch breath,
broken sky prayers
and touch of skin
that lingers lingers
prayers.
what of blood prayers
and mud prayers
and the silence of stars prayers.
what of the earth prayers
that speak us
in our walking of the world.

8.
and some days
our prayer is
help me,
i cannot walk this world
alone any more –
cannot walk it into being
on my own,
some days
our prayer is
help me.

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For the Earthweal weekly challenge: ENACTIVISM AND THE POETRY OF BECOMING

https://earthweal.com/2022/10/17/earthweal-weekly-challenge-enactivism-and-the-poetry-of-becoming/

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