It doesn’t have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones; just
pay attention, then patch
a few words together and don’t try
to make them elaborate, this isn’t
a contest but the doorway
into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice may speak.
This poem, ‘PRAYING’, is from her remarkable collection: “Thirst,” (Beacon Press, 2006).
glistening on the tree,
or only winter icicles
that I presume to see? —
“What can you do that grown-ups don’t?” said her mother.
“Skip,” said the little girl. “I can skip when I’m glad. Grown-ups don’t skip when they’re glad.”
“That’s so,” said her mother, “though they have different ways to be glad.”
“Oh,” said the little girl. “I like to skip. That’s why I like to be little. — ”I Like to be Little”, by Charlotte Zolotow