Sonnet: Prayer

     

Was it in Sunday school that we were taught
That prayer only counted when by rote;
This notion somehow lodged deep when we thought
To talk to God as if reciting quotes?
The words staccato sounds in breathless rhymes-- 
To bless our relatives, while half-asleep;
Confessing each day’s sins with guilty minds;
The fear of “praying God our souls to keep.”

We never thought that God might answer back.
We never thought to listen without words:
To feel God’s hand in midnight’s sacred black,
To hear God’s blessing in the song of birds,
To make a grateful bowl within each heart,
To practice prayer as welcome and as art.

------------------Leslie Barnes Scoopmire, 2025