Guest Author
Melissa Studdard - Writer, Poet, Professor, Editor and Tiferet Talk Show Host
A Prayer
Someday
I’ll meet you again,
and we’ll sleep like
the eyes of hurricanes,
lidless in our
trek to taste each other’s tongues
as they throw dirt
over my face and into the quivers
of my throat. I’ve
been meaning to say a little
something each night,
to light a candle
in the doorframe, set
fire
to the empty church:
For you, I’d drive
the people back into
each other’s arms,
where they could see,
finally, your
softness
again. I meant to say I knew you
were unhoused, the original nomad. There were
none living there among
the pews. What was left
was pressed among the
pages of psalmody.
And
this is no new thing. Another costume off:
My golden hair. My blue-green eyes. Shed beneath the dirt.
I meant
to say, how are
you? And, also, this is not about
me. Because there are tigers scratching
at the swirling wind.
And there are monsters
banging on the
shutter doors. Because I’ve had
no time to think or
eat properly or rest. It was all
just a blind sneeze in
the wind. Let me know everything
about you, please. I’ll
go back. Do it right this time.
I’ll be
a dragonfly, a pebble, an earthworm, a flea.
A Prayer by Melissa Studdard - Copyright 2013
Publications Credits for: A Prayer (Ishaan Literary Review)