Poetry and Prayer without Pews

My day was off to a confused start. It was the time change. Usually, the clock by my bed adjusts for moving into or out of daylight savings time, but not this morning. Or maybe I just read it wrong. I hurried, washed my hair, and drove to church. No one was there. That’s when I realized: Daylight savings time was back. Sigh. Not a fan.

I decided to drive across town and retrieve my “Lorem Ipsum” scarf from the back seat of a friend’s car and to leave some of my columns for her. Took the wrong freeway. Circled back to catch the correct Interstate which I did, but in the wrong direction. Another circle and finally I was was headed east.

At home, I sat sipping coffee and chuckling at myself and the morning when the phone rang. It was my daughter. I gave her the rundown of the morning’s adventures before she could ask her question: What was the poem I had referenced in a text I sent to her last night. Something about what you’d do with your one wild and precious life.

Ah, the morning was wonderful again. “Mary Oliver’s ‘Summer Day’,” I said. Walking around the house, I found the book and began what became a poetry reading: “Summer Day,” “Roses,” “When Death Comes,” “Don’t Worry.”  Verse interspersed with my descriptions of Mary Oliver, the poet of attentiveness, prayer as attention, and then another poem.

I couldn’t stop, and my daughter was patient. I think she enjoyed it, actually. And when I hung up, I felt like I had been to church after all.