One thing I could always count on was morning prayer. Even when things went wrong, bouncing around seem to be my middle name. Sometimes we moved across town only to move back downtown. Only to slide back over to the east of the city. The one thing that remained constant was prayer.
I can remember the all night prayers huddled around the living room. I can remember mama and her holy oil. Glued to the walls and metallic wallpaper. I can remember the smell of castor oil and frankincense. I can remember the pouring of water in ceramic bowls. Two of my mother’s bowls were split down the center.
Crackling of waters in clay.
We stood, we bowed, we laid prostrate,
we gave our prayers to faith,
we surrendered those days,
where the nightmare seemed to creep behind those prayers we prayed
here we are counting broken-ness, as our eyes grew legs searching for the sun.
there we are, staying all night if we had to, until the fetters of our minds were done.
some said, “it didn’t take all that” but we prayed
to keep our sanity,
some said “they didn’t have time to pray” but mama said she “could pray any time, anywhere. In whisper, softly and moaned. Through song, until the prayers got down to the bone.
we prayed while our faith seemed weak and worn out
we prayed with no money in our pockets
we prayed together, we prayed alone
we prayed with eviction notice in our hands
we prayed picking iron beds and recycled soda cans
and I still believe miracles happen when you pray.
kindness sister Krissy