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War Zone: A Reflective Prayer

Here it is, God, my heart-mind, I sit it

before you: beating, feeling, thinking,

red and purple and dark like a war zone.

Serious battles have been waged here,

landmines planted and detonated,

DUK boats and Higgins boats rushing

upon the shores, infantry parachutes and

ripcords littering the sands, soldiers

in trenches and once-whizzing bullets

canvassing the grounds. Casualties around

and victories. White flags. Surrenders.

This battleground from head to chest,

this is sacred to you, isn’t it, God? You’ve

come for it and pursued relentlessly

until you’ve transgressed the boundaries,

stupid as they are, that I’ve attempted to

establish. You’ve come into what was once

enemy territory and laid siege to this

18-inch expanse, and I gave in when I

saw no way out. You now inhabit this place

and I have become your slave, now a

prisoner of war, but freer than I’ve ever been.

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