Laura Van Prooyen
I sit before the page and begin a prayer.
The incoherent alphabet I spin is prayer.
Batter my heart three person’ed God reels
through my head, therein my prayer.
I test my daughter’s blood at night. Dark
drops rush through her skin, like prayer.
My mother urges me to read the Bible
to my girls. I read Grimm, say a prayer.
This warning from my love: Don’t drink.
Keep your pants on. I mix my gin with prayer.
My girl just now understands her disease
has no cure; I’m closer to chagrin than prayer.
Here I am, asking for help again. Lord,
your patience must be wearing thin as prayer.