June 20: "Reclining on Clouds," Longest Day, "Summer Solstice Night"

Billy Collins won't pray . . . 

Reclining on Clouds

by: Billy Collins

I would pray for you

but the gods would know

I was talking

to myself

and would turn

their curly

golden heads

the other way.

I pray.  A lot.  Most of the time, my prayers are short, almost desperate:  help! or Jesus Christ! or fuck me!  (Yes, I tend to be a little profane in my conversations with my Higher Power.  It's just who I am.  If God can't handle it, she better look for another job.)  However, there are times when my prayers express awe:  wow! or holy shit! or fuck me!  (Yes, "fuck me!" works in many situations, its meaning dependent on context.)

Prayer is a habit I picked up as a kid.  I grew up in a family where, after dinner, my dad and mom forced us kids to get on our knees and recite a rosary.  In the mornings, my parents sat at the dining room table, their prayer books next to their coffee cups, saying their morning devotions.  Prayer was habit for them, and, by osmosis, it became a habit for me.

There's something very comforting for me in saying a prayer.  The very act makes me feel less alone, as if I always have someone willing to listen to my complaints or worries or needs or joys.  I spent most of today getting many small tasks done at the library--things that I've been meaning to accomplish all week long.  At around 11 a.m., I sat back from my keyboard for a second and said out loud, "Fuck me!"  It was an expression of frustration (how much more shit do I have left to do?!) and satisfaction (how awesome am I for getting shit done!) and relief (how shitty was that? glad it's done!).  

This evening, I led a virtual open mic.  Only two other people showed up (my wife and a new poet friend), but it was an amazing hour or so of sharing and conversation.  (Another fuck me! holy moment.)  I went into the event a little tired, and now, sitting at my desk, typing this post, I'm totally energized with gratitude for the gift of friends and words in my life.  

It is the summer solstice.  An almost full moon tonight.  (Strawberry moon tomorrow.)  The longest day of the year in the Western Hemisphere.  It's about 9:28 p.m. right now, and the sky is just getting a little dusky as I type these words.  It is fairly overcast, so the chances of me seeing that almost full moon tonight are slim to not a chance in hell.  I may take a stroll in my backyard in a little while to see if the stars are having a little solstice party,

If Saint Marty sees the moon, he may say a little prayer of thanks that goes something like this:  fuck me!

Summer Solstice Night

by: Martin Achatz

won't begin until around

10 p.m. when the moon shows

up with her girlfriends--

Cygnus, Lyra, Aquila--puts

Purple Rain on the record player,

starts to grind and twerk

against the dark hips of heaven.