Poetic Prayer

Now that it’s July, I guess it’s time to start on some of those New Year’s resolutions! One of mine (for the past several years) has been to learn how to write poetry, to add another dimension to my writing. On some level, I don’t think you can learn to write a poem, rather, poetry is something within that simply needs to be coaxed out. In that sense, just as we are all storytellers, we are all poets.

That said, the perfectionist in me wants instruction, a how-to, at least to get started. I found that in a online skill share class this week. Five days of self-paced, short videos along with simple writing exercises from a lovely poet named Jacqueline Suskin. It’s been fun and inspiring and I think the shy poet within is garnering the courage to come out and play.

The first lesson was about awe, finding it in the ordinary and writing about it. As an example, the instruction created a poem about her pen, an ordinary tool that allowed her to create magic and mystery. She also pointed out that finding awe in the ordinary is a good practice for every day life. It can make the mundane enchanting, the boring captivating.

From the list of things I created, ordinary objects in my bedroom, I chose the rosary beads on my nightstand. Now, I actually don’t think rosary beads are ordinary, they have special meaning, but sitting there, not used in a very long time, these beads made the list and I’m glad they did. I was pleased at this first attempt at a poem, more pleased on how it guided further reflection. First, the poem. . .

The smooth, round mahogany beads from a mountain town in Spain, travel in my daughter’s pocket, home to Virginia, home to me.

Prayers, many prayers, strung together from bead to bead, prayers of a mother to a mother, the Black Madonna of Montserrat.

Whisper in the ear of your sacred son, Ask as only a mother can, Keep them happy, Keep them healthy, Keep them peaceful, Keep them safe.

The last part of the poem is the prayer I said with my children when they were little and many, many times since. The last line, keep them safe, is the universal prayer of mothers everywhere. Now, more than ever. But “safe” is relative. While I pray a son driving somewhere doesn’t get in a car accident and get hurt or die, another mother is praying her son does not get pulled over by the police and get hurt or die.

That is not a prayer a mother should ever need to say, nor prayers for protection against the many other injustices that is the reality for so many in our country. But mothers do what mothers do, we pray for our children. The prayers of a mother are heard, of that I am certain. It may take time, it may take heartache, sacrifice, patience and trust, but the God who loves us all hears our prayers for our children.

There is so much work to do to fight the racial injustice that permeates our country. Where to begin is overwhelming but listening, learning, understanding is a start . . . and praying, never underestimate the power of a prayerful mother.