top of page
  • Writer's pictureMrsMollyWilcox

How I pray (Part One)

On Sunday

my spirit softens

awakens slowly—

like an old, tired dog,

stretching to greet

an uncomplicated day,

shifting its weight and releasing

a long yawn—its tongue

hanging loosely

without a care.

Somewhere in a corner,

a phone rings,

a human jumps in reaction.

The dog hunkers into

a patch of sunlight, gleaming

through the window,

warming the rug.

Nestling its head down

into its soft, furry paws,

waking only

to perk up its

ears and listen.


bottom of page