Tuesday, January 31, 2012

An Answer

Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

At the end of every day

there is a silence that creeps


It’s the unoccupied space

filled with memories

and what ifs.

Sometimes it has a name.

Usually not.

It keeps me in good company,


and never argumentative.

We’ve started growing old


like long familiars do.

But lately my gratitude for

such a simple departure

into the night has begun

to wane.

I hear voices after the sun


One of them sounds like mine.

I dare myself to believe

in the other,

with little success

as of yet.

What does one do with

an interlude

in which a single candle


faster than the red wine?

Perhaps this is a space

reserved for prayers.

If so, I am lacking,

for I have forgotten

for that which I used to pray

so heartedly.

“Maybe,” says the flickering


“you are not to pray,

but to become the answer

to a prayer.”

© 2012-2013/Jamie K. Reaser
Published in "Sacred Reciprocity: Courting the Beloved in Everyday Life." (www.hiraethpress.com)


  1. So deeply heartfelt and moving... In may case it's that I seem to forget *to* whom I used to pray - and even that has changed over the years. Your poem speaks to me of that as well...that longing in the heart... And so I have taken to walking at twilight, during these liminal times, the in between silent times...

    Much gratitude for your wonderful words...

  2. Thank you CK - looking forward to hanging out with your blog and your verse. Blessings to you...

  3. Jamie, I love the rawness of this. Thank you for sharing. xo

  4. (((Alyce))). Thank you for being in the Circle Lovely. xo