A reading of the original poem "We Find Our Prayers at Sunset" by Stanley Anne Zane Latham 

We Find Our Prayers at Sunset
:

You arrive
I arrive
We all arrive

Wet   ready to swallow   we identify 
red and triangle   we find something   innately     
strangely comforting in banging wood block
against wood block    lying across cool moss
waking    to the long distant sound
of lawnmowers



You go to school
I go to school
We all go to school

We come home
Our mothers are there
No one is there
Our mothers are there

We question 
each other’s faces
We question 
leg braces and orange hair
We question 
where our fathers go     algebra 
in our future     language. 


Your little brother could only nap 
inside the soft faded to apricot satin
of an old black suitcase someone 
sailed from Belgium with    before 
a war    one evening, while he slept 
inside    we pulled the old thing up the hill 
behind the school     then watched it sail
down the smooth brick-red clay
three times    we questioned   language
how to say   you’re it
how to say   I don’t know where my mother is
how to say    i’ll never leave you

We turn out different   but
we turn out the same


You move away.
I move away. 
We all move away.

Days stay bright yellow   because we have 
the Facebook    nights stay cool yellow
because we chat and chat
on the Facebook   and you grow out
of your mother’s closet   and her pills 
and her love for a dozen rescue dogs    and her
tragic appliquéd fingernails
and me.



You go to work.
I go to work.
We all go to work.

We come home
You type     while I sit by windows    your face 
is blue   my face 
is blue    blue   i watch us
embrace at the back gate
under the crepe myrtles    bark all creatures 
could make love about, you type
I watch us kiss
until we stroll    we stroll so far away
the moon unhooks herself to follow

We are on the beach then    A steely bird
sporting a black mantle with sharp blue chevron
tap  tap taps  a shell until it splits
and love    dark and green as a midnight rainforest
pours out    glistens like abalone   it leaps  
leaving zephyr ripples across the sand 
But steely bird’s wing strides are wider than love’s 
new    awkward lumbar and in her talons love
bleeds iridescent aqua    into the confused tide.



You had dreams.
I had dreams.
We all had dreams.

The neighbor paints his front door battleship gray
and buys opposing lions, paws raised.
She paints her door red.

There is another door painted hilarious lime.
something innately    strangely
comforting   but disconcerting and we prod
tall thick hedges to discover what creature
this is    we fall craning from high windows    what 
conventions     what judgement 
and someone has the audacity to report
her shabby roof just to get a glimpse
of that being

We all fear. 

You go solar
I go camping
We all go to a spa   We 
pan for gold
everything I find is gold
everything you find    is not.

You have children
I get a dog
We all get SUVs
We visit Mount Rushmore
We eat at Olive Garden
and TGI Fridays

We all take selfies.

We decide it’s time
something for ourselves now   something
we’d always wanted    to do   or be
in a way    we all take singing lessons.
We can’t hear ourselves.
We don’t like the sound.
We tune in American Idol   we sit 
in our own shadows
call it R&R    in the shade 
of our backyard

with appletinis.



You would not age.
I aged.
We all aged.

The SUV aged.
The dog too.
Even the parents.
This
the hardest thing yet.



You searched.
I searched.
We all searched.

High on a mountain we walked
through the mist
the striking flames of foreign indigo flowers
guiding the way   the higher we climbed
the more of us fell   clinging* 
to the red red roots
of those emblazoned blooms
toes scraping and desperate 
against the sides
of the cathedrals.

We climbed until the sound
of water stopped     and you doubted
I turned my head
to see you sliding
down down down 
into the mists. I turned
half a circle
to save you
instead of myself.



You died.
I was left here.
We were all left here.

It was still early
but so very late
the series had ended that night   a stone 
across the pitch screen 
we sat in the car surrounded by snow 
wet enough to drown in
Through the cracked windshield
your lips     purple in the glow from the mall
made up stories about where 
those characters would be
in twenty years    How invested we became
in fictions    in emailed urban legends 
invented by PETA    in soy and salmon   in waiting 
for the future
you never cashed in.



You arrive 
I arrive
We all arrive

That place where we learned red
and triangle
where we scrubbed places now filled 
with cobwebs    the beautiful dark memories
where you long to hear    your name
whispered sweetly like cool moss
resound    like wood block    against wood block
despite appliquéd nails
or missing language

That place where I cradled my mother
with my body in her bed   listened to her breath
breathe    like mine   (like yours)
Felt the length of her spine   bone and knuckle dig
into my chest and belly     like mine   entwined 
my fingers in fingers    like mine   (like ours)
and though she was beyond speech
i knew her voice    was mine 



You come home    in the violet
I come home      in the violet
We all come home.


© sazl 2015


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