Thoughts&Prayers Go Out
That crap about everything happening for a reason:
He was dying because his wife wasn’t praying hard enough--
wildfire infection and some lady from their church told his wife--
I’m supposed to think about how many times per day is enough and pray?
Disease/disaster/friend-whose-mother’s-cousin’s kid has a frightful thing--
That means I remember so-and-so has such-and-such tumor.
Other people’s suffering. I mean, I care. I mean to care. “I care” means?
Means “connection? Crap, I’m so tired of being asked to think about--
so tired of feeling like anybeing’s survival depends on my,
on my incompetent remembering.
What does it mean about the whole my mind/your body connection
when it’s triangulated with the un-geographical geography of Heaven?
The whole my mind/my body thing is only
some network of nerves or veins they recently found—
what this other thing means, God knows when we’ll know, except we know,
except we don’t.
Thank God it isn’t me? It will be. Or worse.
There’s so much worse that’d break my voice.
But when it’s me, and all your minds scritch-bouncing over my body’s
plaints and threats--
I thought I saw Jesus once, plain--
he wasn’t altogether pleased at being asked for healing while busy
healing. Even a limitlessness gets worn
skin-thin by so many thoughts and prayers, you understand?
He was dying because his wife wasn’t praying hard enough--
wildfire infection and some lady from their church told his wife--
I’m supposed to think about how many times per day is enough and pray?
Disease/disaster/friend-whose-mother’s-cousin’s kid has a frightful thing--
That means I remember so-and-so has such-and-such tumor.
Other people’s suffering. I mean, I care. I mean to care. “I care” means?
Means “connection? Crap, I’m so tired of being asked to think about--
so tired of feeling like anybeing’s survival depends on my,
on my incompetent remembering.
What does it mean about the whole my mind/your body connection
when it’s triangulated with the un-geographical geography of Heaven?
The whole my mind/my body thing is only
some network of nerves or veins they recently found—
what this other thing means, God knows when we’ll know, except we know,
except we don’t.
Thank God it isn’t me? It will be. Or worse.
There’s so much worse that’d break my voice.
But when it’s me, and all your minds scritch-bouncing over my body’s
plaints and threats--
I thought I saw Jesus once, plain--
he wasn’t altogether pleased at being asked for healing while busy
healing. Even a limitlessness gets worn
skin-thin by so many thoughts and prayers, you understand?
Devon Miller-Duggan has published poems in Rattle, Shenandoah, Margie, Christianity and Literature, Gargoyle. She teaches Creative Writing at the University of Delaware. Her books include Pinning the Bird to the Wall (2008), Neither Prayer, Nor Bird (2013), Alphabet Year, (2017).
