Prayer and I have an on again, off again relationship—
There are days or weeks in which the praying
and the thanking and the obligating become perfunctory.
Up and down I go mouthing meaningless sounds
only to finish in the wrong position
or find myself at the end of a sentence
with no idea of the road ahead.
Just as it seems to be a profound waste of time
there comes a day of light in darkness—
a day of lifting up, a day of slamming down.
A day when the words speak me.
Poetry is like that.
Days of “interesting” poems,
days of revision, with no new words worth working with.
Weeks of waiting, with wheels whining in little circles,
going nowhere.
And then comes a day when something
drops out of my hand like a jewel
and I turn it over and over searching for any flaw.
Sometimes, my Dad said, the most important work
is just showing up.
----------------------------------------rhonda
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