—August 27, 2025
In the small prayer within the world’s prayer,
her pale lips move in expectant ways, mouthing,
without sound, mother, father, brother, priest, nuns,
her unskinned knees bent obediently on the kneeler,
one palm lightly pressed against the other in supplication,
her brown eyes closed.
In the small prayer within the world’s prayer,
there is still room for distractions, the memory
of vacation treats—s’mores, barely toasted
on the outside, gooey inside—no sudden torching
of white; there is room for her six new colored pencils,
carefully sharpened to a point, safe in her blue backpack
in the classroom where she is no longer because
she is thanking God for her new ruler and her new teacher,
the one who smiles with her whole face.
