First Prayer

For April, Poetry Month, I’m following prompts offered by Jena Schwartz. Its lovely to get up, read her offering, then just write what falls off the pen. This is my response for today:

First Prayer

Some mornings I open my eyes

and still find myself brooding,*

 This music, the brooding,

The wind and the metal bells…

the first prayer:

For the unclenching of the common fist,

The scoured, the scalded heart,

The rancorous cry,

For the face unmasked,

Treacherous words allowed to fall

Quiet into the uncurled hand

Spilled onto the still earth,

All the knotted ropes undone,

Until we turn and turn,

Breath and rain

over the parched spring land,

all the cages opened

wherever there are cages,

time freed from clocks,

days from dates,

and something in the small,

wild, fierce and tender human heart

walks free            or flies.



* photo and quote from Jena Schwartz




About wrensong

I am a poet who collects stones. I am a wanderer of creek beds and forests, canyons and high desert who, coming home, sometimes finds words to tell the story. I am a companion with others in the search for Deep, Wild Soul. I shape containers in time and space for others to come together to write, to tell their stories, to hold each other in the telling. I am a grandmother and the companion of a cat named Alaya. I often travel out into open country with a man who calls himself Dunewalker who has hung his hammock in my heart.
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