Walking timidly, toward Christmas
not trusting what I know to want or confess.

I am humbled by design,
by all I’ve gotten and squandered.

The destinations I’ve mispronounced.
The answer hovers in the air
around me
too familiar too see.
It is “something to pray for”
that is haunting me.

When I was small
it all seemed simple.
I’d put my coins in piggy banks,
but as time rolled on
they had holes and all became gone.

For I’d stored my wishes
and trusted in currency given
not found,
not by me.

So now thoughts roll toward
what I’ve mined myself,
and is mine.

And strangely,
there is no hole.

“I’ve found my wealth.”
I cannot lose.
The treasure is mine.

I surrender
that what’s inside
is all that is mine.

The rest I’ve plumbed
to trot outside.

I’ve found my prayer.
I’ll pray today
to stay that way.

– Bobby McAlpine, Catechisms

Photo by Tria Giovan

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