I’ve Got So Many Prayers Still Unspoken
they bottleneck behind my teeth.
And my tongue is that one traffic cop
motioning on those prayers, like
c’mon now, folks, let’s move this along!
And she’s switching worn out arms,
switching between a wave and a waggle
of the beckoning hand, trying whatever
and trying not to look over her shoulder
at the shattered glass & twisted metal,
trying not to acknowledge disaster.
Because my prayers have been in gridlock,
sitting there in growing heat for what
might be years, & my prayers are honking,
prayers are hollering out their windows,
merging sharply without blinkers but
outstretched fingers, stomping their feet
on either pedal, every one just burning
with the need to go (Dear God, let’s go!)
—until they finally see that accident,
still too recent,
and they stop honking, roll back up
their windows, even if the A/C’s fritzing,
put their hands in the 10 & 2 position.
Maybe some prayers call those prayers
back home, softly saying Hey baby
I miss you. Did I tell you I love you
before I left for work? I got stuck
in traffic, dunno when I’ll get there.
Hopefully soon, but maybe not.
Because my prayers are swing-swift
& 9-to-5-vers, long haul truckers
and Uber drivers, all trying to get
somewhere like the Trade Towers
or to Fukushima Daiichi, Ferguson,
to that clusterfuck called D.C.
But my poor traffic cop tongue
never gets to know if the prayers
behind the stop & go of her trembling
hands are just delayed or so rerouted
as to be useless. I mean, who’d ever
circle back to say? Prayers rush on
and the traffic cop tongue must stay.
For she is only one,
& there are so many more prayers
bottlenecked & idling,
because of this, the pile-up
we call the world,
and she can’t stop, she can’t
call a break but must
usher the closet prayer on,
the next one already
in the corner of her eye.