Amateur Prayer Hour
Here's a poem I wrote in 2016. I'm often hesitant to share it because I worry someone will ask me to defend one side of an argument that it's not really about. Hopefully this audience will understand.
Amateur Prayer Hour
Sometimes it feels
like God
is my wife,
and she’s three
months pregnant
with our baby boy.
Only, last week she said
she’s not sure we’re ready
for a kid. ‘How can we afford
another mouth to feed, when we
barely get by ourselves?”
Then, after she left the house this morning
I saw a note written on the calendar:
“Dr.’s Appt.” tomorrow afternoon
—she never told me about that one.
And every damn time
I walk out the door, or turn on
the radio, the whole world is screaming.
About women’s choices
and reproductive rights.
How you can, “liberate yourself
from the unwanted weight
of an unwanted life.”
But all I can think about
is my wife’s growing
belly, two beautiful
brown eyes, and the tiny
heartbeat
of our only son.
I still like this one a lot!