The Vicar's Complaint
by Maren Isley
3.8(143)
A preacher who prayed every night
for a sign he was living it right
heard thunder at ten
from a blue sky, and then:
'Wrong number. But bless you. Goodnight.'
30 words · 5 lines · Limerick
by Maren Isley
I don't know what I believe but I know the feeling when the light hits the kitchen table
Blessed are those who aren't sure. Blessed are those who came to church for the singing, stayed for the quiet,
Praise the cracking open of the seed, the blind ambition of the buried root, the robin's first bewildered, breathless creed
There's a word for the way your coffee cup still sits on the second shelf where no one else would put it—
I woke before you and did nothing about it. The radiator ticked. Your shoulder rose and fell.
My hands still set the table for two. Not every night—just Thursdays, when my hands forget