"Wild Prayer" - Ciera Durden
An apology now starts to form
When I mention I still believe in something holy.
The acknowledgement of that week’s list of horrors shared through whatever media bubbles up,
And I find myself almost defensive,
Like I’m protecting a cruel friend.
There is always the “despite of” that comes before
Explaining how I can still feel the divine
Run up the hidden veins in my legs when I touch the earth,
How some miracle splits the sky open every morning,
Even in the middle of all this pain.
At this point, belief is nearly embarrassing,
And I find myself avoiding prayer because of it.
At this point, not even sure what method could I cast out into
The great, wide what-have-you
To be heard.
On hopeful, naïve days, this scene of confrontation becomes
A quiet knock on the door
To ask whomever is crowded in the house of the universe’s center
To come out for a walk with me
And talk things over.
I might begin,
“You have done some really beautiful work here.
The cold fog rising up at dawn saved my life today.
And last night, I kissed someone who loved me as much as I love her.
I know you did that,
But why this mess over here?
Why that suffering, that grief, that death?”
On other days, this scene falls apart,
The trap that prayer
Has never been a stroll in the park
As much as it has been tossing coins down the well,
Words bouncing in cheap copper plinks into the dark mouth
Of something that only gapes mutely back.
But this too falls apart
In the infuriating, but honest moments
When I feel something did answer back—
In how the car swerved that day and righted itself,
In the unexpected but certain press of comfort from a friend long-past,
In how you and I met that night, despite all of it,
During these times, I know
Just as I do not speak every language of every bright soul I meet,
Or understand immediately what the dog wants
In his wordless but earnest twitch of body—
Maybe this, too, shapes differently,
And to expect what or who made this all,
Every way to speak, to signal, to reach out and gather,
To answer in my one, small way
Is not how any of this works.
This is not the old excuse—
God works in mysterious ways—
This is not the final answer or any answer
To what evil we all felt yesterday.
This is only turning everything that the unknown made in me
Back to it
In love, and in fury,
Prayer a whole-body experience,
Worship a life of seeing and seen,
Every breath a question mark,
Every gesture a waiting, open hand.
It's time to celebrate fall at October's open mic! Featured will be poet Ciera Durden in a welcome visit back to Athens Word of Mouth.
Ciera has been a member of Athens Word of Mouth since 2011. Currently, she lives in Anderson, SC, and is looking to tap into the poetry scene in the South Carolina area. Her poetry focuses on confessional pieces, as well as themes on sexuality, religion, gender, and mysticism.
Open mic sign-up at the Globe is Wednesday October 3 @ 7 p.m. and readings begin upstairs at 8 p.m. See you there for this special night! [Photo by David Noah]