My Liturgy
A poem
There are prayers shouted into steering wheels
in the seconds between heartbreak and red lights.
Some bargain like hagglers in a storm,
others are pure surrender.
And then, there are those that say only: please.
There are prayers learned by heart
and others torn from it.
Prayers stitched into lullabies,
into recipes, into
“Text me when you get home.”
There are prayers inside apologies,
prayers folded into the pause before forgiveness.
Some are spoken aloud,
some mouthed with shaking hands.
On particularly great days,
gratitude prayers overwhelm the soul.
There are the ancient ones from the Holy Bible—
for when we need all the backup we can get.
There are prayers whispered to ceilings
by people who claim not to believe.
Some flare on first dawns, last breaths,
and anniversaries no one else remembers.
There are prayers that saved you,
and you didn’t even notice.
Rebeka Goodman is a voice actor, gardener, and lover of literature across cultures. She lives in Pulaski, N.Y.
