A Tired Prayer

A familiar tired face sits in front of me. I wiggle my leg to see if it is strapped in tight enough to distract me from my pain. I try like mad not to engage in the fight I’m in with my faults. I want to pay attention to what is happening, but my efforts quickly give way to the realm of thought hurling around in my mind. Life is so loud right now. The clicking of the oar in its lock abruptly tick tocks away the seconds of my youth— the seconds that we’re unaffected by worry, heartache, or arthritis. 

The foggy air smells like gasoline and decaying foliage. Amid the sounds of water and steadily humming engines, voices from people I can't see wander up to meet my ears. I hear a "really, that's crazy" and an "I can't believe he said that to you." Feeling eerily distant from the world of

teenage girlhood, I take a deep swell of crisp air that burns my two front teeth. I instantly re-live my favorite childhood sensation: biting into strawberry popsicles on summer days I thought would never end. I lock in. I stare at the miraculous medal worn by the tired face in front of me and

find some momentary stillness.

She yells “pry!" and everything fades out. It's just the river and I. I feel the same sun on my skin from that distant childhood memory, and a strong compulsion to wade through the water washes over me. I think it may ease my mind. My blade gets a little stuck under the current and I

remember this is not the Lethe, it’s just the Anacostia. Thirsty for forgetfulness and living water my heart finds drink in its soft utterings

of the Lord's prayer. On every fifth beat of the prayer and of my pounding heart, I pull the ore into my weary ribs.

Our FAther WHO art IN / HeaVEN haLLOWED be THY/ name THY kingdom come THY

/ will BE done ...

On every touch to my purpling left side, I feel the quiet. I'm not the person I want to be, but I'm trying. God's here, the sun is rising, and

the birds are flying overhead.