Two poems for the last day of March
"Each leaf,
each blade of grass
vies for attention.
Even weeds
carry tiny blossoms
to astonish us."
- Marianne Poloskey, Sunday in Spring
What I Pray For
by Dennis O’Donnell
Sacks of rocks
I have gathered from the beach,
some of which I used to toss
my own I Ching,
stones representing
fire, water, wind, and the rest,
some of them with strange,
man-like markings, like circles,
probably formed by little pools of sea water,
dried by the sun,
leaving behind a round stain of salt.
Stacks of poems,
sacks of rocks,
milk crates full of books
full of baloney:
I can’t let them go, not yet,
but I lie in bed and plead with God
to empty out my past, all of it,
at least all of the bad,
set me free,
flush out
all the shame and rage and heartache,
but please, not the finger-paints,
not baseball and my best friends.
Deal, He says,
but all the rocks must go.
No tarot cards, and no metaphysical bull.
Fine, I say.
I have a look at my bookcase.
I see Rumi, Suzuki, Lao Tzu, and two Bibles.
So: who will throw the first stone?
Source: “What I Pray For” by Dennis O’Donnell from America Magazine
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