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The Prayers

When I asked the world to open me,
I did not know the price. 
When I wrote that two-word prayer in the sand,
I did not know loss was the key, 
devastation the hinge,
trust was the dissolution 
of the idea of a door. 
When I asked the world to open me, 
I could never have said yes to what came next. 
Perhaps I imagined the waves
knew only how to carry me. 
I did not imagine they would also pull me under. 
When I asked the world to open me, 
I had not imagined drowning 
was the way to reach the shore. 
The waves of sorrow dragged me down 
with their tides of unthinkable loss. 
The currents emptied my pockets 
and stripped me of my ideas. 
I was rolled and eroded
and washed up on the sand
like driftwood—softened.
I sprawled there and wept, 
astonished to still be alive.
It is not easy to continue to pray this way. 
Open me. 
And yet it is the truest prayer I know. 
The other truest prayer,
though sometimes I long to run
from its truth, is Thank you.

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