A Monday Prayer
There was a time when I believed in my own eloquence.
I thought that I could move You (and those around me),
by talking slowly and deliberately.
I thought that I could tell You that I was good on my own. I thought that (if it would work) I might hide myself from You. (To get what I wanted.)
But all of that has passed now. I talk to You like an old friend, or, sometimes, an old lover. I have very few things left to prove.
I see You moving. I ache, occasionally, about how much You move. It is clear that You haven't forgotten me. It seems clear that I don't know what I need.
You do not often move the way that I ask You to move.
There are moments (fleeting, and tense), where I don't think I can wait any longer. But I have, and I will. I will. (If, indeed, I am waiting at all.)
I curl in the crook of Your arm just now and look back. It has all been made well, even when it didn't seem possible.
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