Ritual Prayer Flannel-heavy midnights where sleep cracks open to grief, the deep now of absence curled close, the fog of death and dream a mumbled prayer that keeps looping back to hope or, at least, survival: Wisdom, Mercy, Kindness, Healing, the cold sheets of sometimes-comfort a mercy to embrace—or an urgency, friend, family (sometimes foe) begging the kindness we solicit easily from strangers, not those we know, our own need for healing forgiveness the necessary first petition. Or in the mid-day gray of the mundane, healing that joins hands with those unseen saints hovering in the shadows of past and now. Heavy these petitions we promise for others, our pleas on their behalf a kindness that covers all our wounded souls. Purifying is the tear-soaked prayer wept daily for the poor, the afflicted, the sorrowful not-us—a mercy immersing each intercession in humility, that truest wisdom confronting who we are without epiphany, the experienced-earned wisdom of the penitent prodigal. And so, again, Wisdom, Mercy, Kindness, Healing leaks through cracked lips or, exhaled from restricted lungs, blooms to mercy, the letters of me/you/us/them merging into, if not understanding, the now of examination that eventually breathes the deeper dispensation of grace. Prayer pulls closer to God both the petitioner and the stricken, such Divine kindness measured out daily in small syllables and seeds of belief. “Pay forward kindness,” scriptures and billboards recommend. But more so, the kindest yet—this wildflower wisdom that daily digs and sows, but also scatters, prayer begetting prayer begetting action—is ritual that rinses even the grittiest intentions from the unhealed on the path to healing. Which always brings us back to now and each minute’s need and choice for empathy and mercy. What, then, will we answer, deep in the night, when the Merciful calls out for us? “Here, am I”? Wisdom, Mercy, Kindness Healing. Or better, “Speak, Lord, your servant listens now,” an obedient if not immediate faith, even as, half-awake to wisdom, we murmur words that put in motion healing. O Great I AM, accept our inarticulate prayers— mid-day or midnight—you the first and living Prayer for us, penitents and portals of your mercy when we bow to Word and words. Heal us. Bestow again your unearned kindness of grace. Re-shape these abbreviated intercessions, Wisdom of All Ages, into shining orisons for others. And now, may we repeat and renew the well-worn prayer that brings us near to you: Wisdom, Mercy, Kindness, Healing, Forever and now. Amen.
English and creative writing professor at Lock Haven University, Marjorie Maddox has published 14 collections of poetry—most recently Begin with a Question (Paraclete, International Book + Illumination Book Award winner and CMA Award, 3rd) and the ekphrastic collections Heart Speaks, Is Spoken For (with Karen Elias) and In the Museum of Her Daughter’s Mind, a collaboration with her artist daughter (www.hafer.work). She has poems included in the anthology Christian Poetry in America since 1940 . In addition, she has published the story collection What She Was Saying (Fomite) and 4 children’s and YA books. She has poems included in the anthology Christian Poetry in America since 1940 (Paraclete Press), edited by Michael Mattix and Sally Thomas, and in Taking Root in the Heart, edited by Jill Baumgaertner. Please see www.marjoriemaddox.com
Amethyst Review 