[Back to Poems]

Prayer

“Let’s bow our heads together,”
the man at the pulpit says
and I bow my head and fold my hands
but before I close my eyes I see
that she is reaching out to hold
my hand. And so I reach out and clasp
hands with her, not interlacing
our fingers, just holding hands;
I think it’s to make the prayer
a communal experience.
But I feel every tiny muscle movement
that my hand makes and I worry
that she will think it’s awkward
when my thumb accidentally
squeezes hers too tight. She wraps
her fingers tighter around mine,
just slightly, a subtle gesture
that could almost go undetected,
but because my eyes are closed,
I have nothing else to divert my attention,
and I wonder if her tightened grip
has any significance. She moves
her thumb, just a hair’s breadth of
motion—but a motion that makes
my nerves tingle. I am worried
that she will sense my unspoken question:
that she will, through our joined hands,
feel my quickened, shallow heartbeat.
I wait for eternity, trying
not to let a single muscle twitch
and finally, blessedly, the man
at the pulpit says “In Jesus’ name,
Amen” and with a quick squeeze
we let go of each other’s hands.