Prayer for the Holidays

This is my prayer:

To crack open my car window as I drive,
place my fears in my hand like unwanted bills,
extend and feel chill travel from my knuckles 
to my elbow and let go as if tickled by the wind…

Watch the 
magnificent 
swirl 
of 
awakened 
bats

in my rearview mirror
and smile in relief.

Pick out an Oak tree in the distance as a target 
and press down on pedal full force.
Cross myself in case God really exists
and then curse the dead-beat 
because if he does, he never took time to answer any of my prayers.

This is freedom – 

A fraction of a second and a millimeter between metal and bark;
The thought that sparks when front window shatters
and makes its mark; laughs at the delicacy of skin
and drills into bone.  This is home – 
Realizing that you have choice,
but that you are never in control.

The taste of life in the iron of your blood,
the feeling of light exploding from 
the incisions the metal shards combed into your body,
the song of your voice crying – so beautiful, 
because for the first time in a long time, 
it reminds you that you are capable of feeling.

This is healing – 

Poetry written on your car seat in that crimson stain;
the anger, heart-break and desperation that were too heavy to carry in your veins;
the honesty this upside-down world views as weakness.
This is meekness – a modest bow after a brilliant performance;
an untainted form of expression.
This is suicidal lesson – 

Jesus Christ choosing to let them nail him to cross.
The whip marks on his back spelling out,  “Fuck you, world! This is your loss.”

This is the loudest I’ve ever been without speaking…

A good soldier who always followed orders 
and did the right thing 
only to realize the only wars to be fought
are those that exist within.

This is conscious-cleansing,
self-implosion,
the refusal to participate in this society’s erosion,
a simple, profound notion
that these hands, this mouth, this vessel 
were made to do the one thing this world has made illegal:

Love.  

So let me crumble
into the darkness that unites us.
Let my teeth smash, my lunges collapse,
my fingers splinter – all in protest.

But if there is a God, 
I want to look him in the face
and tell him, 
I washed my hands clean from all this mess
and I did it with my own blood.

Amen.