The Writer’s Prayer

Funny thing, writing.
I assume there will be a reader.

I remember big family dinners.
My father would intone while we 
watched the steam rising 
from the platters, getting 
colder after each suffering adverbial. 
Where was God during this? 
Listening? Doubt it. I bet He 
was still watching the football 
game that we were missing.
But we kept our heads bowed 
and our thoughts to ourselves 
until the opening kickoff: Amen!
The clatter of servings spoons 
erased any serenity 
intended for divine altars.

I sometimes think writing is 
just as fruitless. It placates 
the supplicator but the real 
living comes in the doing.
Just as we all assumed God 
was listening to my father, 
writers assume too and,

largely,

it would be an answer to prayer to 
know someone reads my missives.
Amen.