The Walking Hour

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The holy mother gets up for a glass of water,
to use the toilet and to look
out for lights and stars
in the deep 3 a.m. blue–
She breathes,
this altitude that
does something to the heart
it beats so hard– it takes
two hands to hold it in
It’s the walking hour, before
dawn when lines cross
bright and sharp
between hills and sky–
she walks barefoot, gently
to balance unevenness–
moves from room to room–
lends her heftiness and prayers
for everyone and everything
Our lady needs help to relieve
the pressure to make everything
clear and level with the world.

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One comment

  1. courtney · · Reply

    Your poetry is beautiful, Lisa.

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