Prayer

By Carl Wade Thompson

At dawn, it begins;

stand, stretch, relax,

no need to be afraid.

Prayer rug—unrolled,

only in bare feet.

Motion encased by repetition,

a lifetime perfecting form.

I kneel with worn knees,

but no longer is there pain.

I bow my head—breathe,

Palms resting on the floor.

Memory strays back,

a cat slinking by.

I remember my father taught me,

a little boy beside him.

Then, I merely copied,

no knowledge of Allah’s shine.

Now, I see, understand,

God is in the room.

As I pray I see my father,

see him smiling down,

as I ask for a good day,

to be just, merciful, and kind.

Slowly, I sit up,

Allah leaves with my words.

I am no longer alone,

He is with me in my heart.

Looking out the window,

see the morning sun,

I wish it good day.

Let the day begin—go forward;

Start.

Carl Wade Thompson is a poet and the graduate writing tutor at Texas Wesleyan University. His work has appeared in The Mayo Review, The Concho River Review, Anak Sastra, Cenizo, GFT Press, The Eunoia Review, The Galway Review, The Blue Collar Review, Elegant Rage, and Labor: Studies in Working-Class History of the Americas.