Prayer For the Springtime

Not the powder snow, not

the greyed sludge, not the

subzero breeze, nor the sparse

sunrays. But, Christ,


bless the resurrection

of spring, which, discounting

the predicted design of

the period, ambushed my mind

with a temperate clime.


Repay me the days

spent with the currency of

my memory and refund my forgetting

the fairness of these degrees.


Father, I bear my bosom

as a busted cage, my heart

untamed against the bars,

claws etching the metal.


I lift to you jagged scars

snipped with rusty scissors,

once left in the kitchen sink

for a little too long.


Bless the self who

still receives the sunlight

as a gift, eagerly tearing

patterned paper encasing the star,

contents exciting.


Bring back to life the girl who

would wade in this day’s winds,

allowing the intake of oxygen

to let her float instead of sink

to the bottom.


God, help me reform my damaged

memories as I think to say


Here we go again.


–Elizabeth Lacey

(inspired by Jericho Brown’s Prayer of the Backhanded)


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