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Showing posts from June 21, 2013

Marie Howe, on Prayer

I've been gobbling up the poetry of Marie Howe lately, ever since hearing of, good stuff: earthy, raw, alive, fresh, and yet accessible and not (like so much poetry) impenetrable. See for example her collection of poems in What the Living Do , and The Good Thief . And this honest piece on prayer from The Kingdom of Ordinary Time:  Prayer Every day I want to speak with you. And every day something more important calls for my attention -- the drugstore, the beauty products, the luggage I need to buy for the trip. Even now I can hardly sit here among the falling piles of paper and clothing, the garbage trucks outside already screeching and banging. The mystics say you are as close as my own breath. Why do I flee from you? My days and nights pour through me like complaints and become a story I forgot to tell. Help me. Even as I write these words I am planning to rise from the chair as soon as I finish the sentence. (Marie Howe