Prayer By Starr Osborne
When I was younger, my Great-Grandmother took me Into the cricket walls of sanctuary, We would sit in pews of careful coordination Recite prayers, weakly sing unrhythmic hymns. I recall that, as a child, I never knew how to bow my head Instead, I lifted mine, Drinking in the heavens, Looking God in the eyes. Tugging at my grandmother’s sleeves, Mid-prayer, mid-thought, mid-slap of the hand, “Why do we look down? Isn’t God in the sky?” “We are looking down at the devil, we are telling him that we are not afraid.”
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