A Prayer at the Edges of Morning

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Page 35

“A Prayer at the Edges of Morning”

Julia Watkins

Davidson, North Carolina

We have ridden waves of spectacular promise,

spreading our cloaks,

singing your praise,

shouting for salvation.

We have assimilated along paths that didn’t push back,

denying any acquaintance,

calling for crucifixion,

gawking at death.

Mesmerized by progress projected against a backdrop

of desperate longing and all we might have gained,

we fell straight in step

with what we wanted

the movement to be.

Now it is dark,

the edges of morning

barely breaking

against a horizon

punctuated by a

heavy tomb.

Our ears still ringing with the viral din

of sanctuaries

as power brokers,

as social clubs,

as status symbols,

we seek the stillness

of a garden before dawn,

where a woman’s voice,

once barely distinguishable

in the crowd,

now echoes alone

with confusion and grief,

wonder and hope.

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Page 36

Journal for Preachers

So as the sun begins its westward arc, meet us in the cool clearing of all we have lost and all we fear we will, and grant us the courage to linger with what we cannot fathom, no matter how we try,

that when love intercepts us at the graveside and looks us straight in the eye, we would recognize and remember how clear the calling by name, how urgent the living anew.