Remembrance Prayer

Drink a pitcher of holy water like Madison did that one time. Remember?

When you drink it all in maybe you'll feel like a monstrance,

Something sacrestine.

I gave it all up to you because I believed,

I give it all to you.

I just want to write stories with my sister,

And spend the nights in the snow.

And sleep by the window,

Overlooking your lawn.

When the dawn hits we'll have breakfast,

Then go to the gravel pit and hunt agates all day.

I think my favorite rock is Jaspellite,

But I secretly hope that one day I'll find

float copper or something new from the rolling hills of Ironwood.

I walked to Ana's party,

And I didn’t have the wherewithal to turn around or acknowledge my terrified intuition.

Myself and the streetlights,

Magnificent and petrified.

And how could I have known?

All I remember is letting go as I succumbed to something worse.

And I'd like to think I would have been alright:

I'm sitting in her living room now, too afraid to move; offered beer or shots, anything to make me

lose my shaky awkward stance or the confused way I stared across the room.

I tried to tell you I was hurt but my lips could not form the words.

You saw right through me,

I couldn't even see the light in your eyes.

A school day long, bright autumn sun,

We're back home again.

And she's taking the hog hair out of the Victorian chair we found at the estate sale last week.

And my sister has the dremmel tools out,

Her eyes the color of my father's, gray-green like the summer that swells from her.

And could this be bliss?

The feeling of constance.

To the feeling of tenderness I drink in remembrance.

I worship here, peering down at you from space.

I float through and my feet can't touch the floor, can't reconcile with my body;

I offer it to you.