DURING COMMUNION I ASK GOD FOR HELP WITH A POEM
I ask Him for the next word
and a goldfinch flies through the church.
I tell Him there’s a poem I’m trying to write
and lights flicker.
Each day I ask again. Another idea,
another way to pray.
I confuse poetry with religion,
a white wafer I rest on my desk.
My grandmother says not to call for God
unless I’m dying. Yet I ask
God to help me (again and again)
write the last line.
When I finish the poem
I walk outside and find the neighbor’s dog
fallen by the side of the road.
Its pain becomes what I hold, an ache
fading into my arm—
a sacrifice placed in snow,
the taste of blood when I wanted wine.
—Kelli Agodon
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Previously published in PoetLore