Let us pray for
sleeping in your knees.
May you always know when to run.
Let us pray for your head hitting the pillow,
for your mouth when it whispers
“Enough. Enough of that now.”
O, it is no small thing,
with its chariots and its kingdoms
built on the backs of the suffering.
May you walk straight again in the free land.
When the light comes,
may you wear the morning well.
May you always keep part of it in your hands.
Let us pray for the courage roaring
in your colosseum chest,
that it stays hungry and that it wins.
Let us pray.
For your blessed bones.
For your sacred hands.
May you learn to love what is holy in you.
May you learn to love what is not.
To the ones that have not
loved you like you deserve,
may you forget their names.
May you remember your own, always.