• MrsMollyWilcox

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.