POETRY 
          

" I cannot tell you what prayer is or
how it works for me, "
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                                     Photo by Weebly.com                                    

I cannot tell you
by Kathryn J. Miller

​​​I cannot tell you what prayer is or
how it works for me, prayer could be my moment of
reaching into that greater void living inside
I want to tell you I am sure, yet
now I am just trusting something, knowing
this trust is not scientific nor rational
 
I cannot tell you what prayer is, I can
tell you my doctor today told me he has stage four prostate cancer with
tumors in his head and various other locations? I am
unsure now. I only heard stunning stage 4 prostate cancer . . . then
my memory shot back to another time, I remembered my husband’s diagnosis and
that weird silence that followed.  and stillness. seventeen years later he is here and
my doctor faces his illness, his own not knowing his own trust.
 
I cannot tell you what prayer is and I
wanted to tell my doctor “you’ll be alright” and I know that
would be a lie, not because I know anything, rather
because I don’t, in fact I don’t know much
and still I want that good, that ease for him
the simplicity of waking from an unwanted dream
that relief knowing that all is well
 
I cannot tell you what prayer is and still
I want to tell you I felt so sad,
not because he is my dear friend, because
he is my dear doctor, you know the doctor who
calls when there’s follow-up or check ins, his voice
on the other end of the long line, listening,
so deeply listening, helping, re-engaging my personal compass
 
I cannot tell you what prayer is and I remember
he called me.  reaching out personally when there was
a scare—possible breast cancer.  he knew how and why he was a doctor and
still a doctor now.  today telling me about two books he’d read, moving
him to tears right then in that moment, in the office saying,
“we have done so many horrible things to people.”
I want to tell you I said something memorable, I likely did not
 
I cannot tell you what prayer is and still I
told him I would keep him in mine.  he looked at me and said, quietly
“thank you.” I knew it would mean something to him and
therefore to me, grateful in his grace and goodness
uncertain of what would unfold and still I am
unsure of what prayer is and now
wonder, could this poem be my prayer?

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​​Kathryn Miller works in poetry and visual arts. She was trained as a tapestry weaver and has been engaged in collage, iPad painting, along with the woven world. She often returns to her love of poetry. Kathryn is an avid explorer of words and images. Her home is New Mexico and has worked in the Bay Area for the past 18 years. Her PhD explored women’s narrative and what women do with their stories from their lives. Her poetry books include Tango Dancer and Triologue, which was written with two friends through email. Both were self-published. Her professional work has been as an executive coach with private and public organizations.

Other works in this issue:
Poetry: 
​Aubergine
What if   .   .   .

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