how the light gets kept

Lio Fenwick

Free verse · Faith · Love

i don't praybut i do the thing that prayer is for —i say your name into the darkand wait to feel less alone,and i do.

that's the whole religion.you, and the waiting,and the small answered feeling after.

people spend their liveslooking for proof of something larger.i found minein the particular wayyou say my name when you're half asleep,like it's a place you're going back to.

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Up nextA Letter to Whoever Is Running ThisTo whoever is running this: I am not writing to complain. I want that on the record first, because everyone writes to you to complain, and you must be so tired of the mail. I am writing to say that the pomegranate is ridiculous. That you did not have to make the inside look like that. That a thing we eat could have been plain, could have been a potato, and instead it is a chandelier of small red rooms, and no one asked you to, and you did it anyway. I am writing to say I noticed. I am writing to say that if this is all there is — the pomegranate, the light on the taxis, the particular person asleep in the other room breathing like the tide coming in — then it was, on balance, worth the trouble of existing, and I withdraw, provisionally, every complaint I have not yet sent.