…for you know the soul of the stranger, having yourself been strangers in the land of Egypt. (Exodus 23:9)
Our souls swirl and snag
on sharp edges, broken shards.
Prayers splinter on our tongues,
dry as dust.
Can we fill ourselves with breath
of kindness, breath of calm?
It’s so hard to rise
above storms.
I once dreamed of starlings
flying in patterns,
pulled to each other,
yet with space to maneuver
when threatened by hawks,
by danger. But lately I’m dreaming
of others who suffer – those close
and strangers, whose souls
we must touch
so prayers might flow more quickly from our lips
when sorrows come, when joys –
when sorrows come.
Watercolor by the poet.
