prayer by: francisco arcellana
Close all open things, Lord.
Open all closed things.
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Close all open things, Lord.
Open all closed things.
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Haltingly I undo the knots
around your parcel that came this morning.
A small boox should require little labor,
but you’ve always been thorough,
tying things tight and well.
Every morning I sally forth
into the world, my pockets
are full of stones.
You cannot see them
where my hands are hid
sometimes bruised by their edge.
I could love you.
Wrap a metaphor around your finger.
Punctuate each embrace,
take your gaze in the lines
of my hand and lead it to
my mouthing sweet nothing lips.
Two dolls in rags and tatters,
one missing an arm and a leg,
the other blind in one eye –
I grabbed them from her arms,