Uninstalling by Mark S. Nielsen, 9/15-17/2011
Where does a prayer GO
after it is danced, drawn, sung or spoken?
After it is answered, acknowledged,
or lovingly chuckled at
by Yahweh on high?
Does it stay in Your Inbox forever,
moistened with tears
(Yours and ours)
and the spittle that flies from Your mouth
during the occasional rant
Does the blood-infused water
from the wound in Your side
flow over our napkin scrawl prayers,
which litter the ground
at your feet?
Did we wait too long to pray? Can we?
And then do our papyrus pages,
our tree pulp, our unnaturally blue ink,
and our cast-off skin
mix with Your spit, Your blood,
the blind-man’s healing mud
and that holy hurricane rain
to make a rich, earthy soil
where new questions and answers,
and Spirit-juicy citrus fruit litanies,
Or do you simply fold up
our cries and blessings,
putting them in the secret inside pocket
of Your best Sunday-go-to-meeting dashiki
and go on about Your day? —
one in which You were already doing
both what we asked and what we actually needed,
long before we had played
even the first note
or scribbled the first word
of our dog-eared, pompous and wordy,
sin-soaked but sacred psalm.