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  • 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.



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