A Blood-Red Prayer

I pray that I may be more like
a blood-red sun
slipping into the cobalt sea
as tropical night meets tropical day
in a breeze of equilibrium.

I pray that I may be more like
two battling cardinals
splashing against a field of green,
then singing on separate boughs of pine,
their crimson angers spent.

I pray that I may be more like
her laughing lips
heedless of the unmade bed
and two clenched fists
of roses thrown aside.

In the name of all that’s holy
in this world – the blood-red gore
once spilled that leaves us dumb,
and the secret blood that flows beneath all words –

I pray that I may be more like
this bloody face,
so still and self-contained,
peering out from her gore-filled womb
and into my dumbfounded eyes.

Tim Hawkins has lived and traveled widely throughout North America, Southeast Asia and Latin America, where he has worked as a journalist, technical writer, communications manager, and teacher in international schools. He currently lives in his hometown of Grand Rapids, Michigan. His writing has appeared in numerous print and online publications, most recently in BluelineFour and Twenty (http://4and20poetry.com/2011/06/14/four-and-twenty-of-the-week-june-14), Iron Horse Literary Review, The Pedestal Magazine (http://www.thepedestalmagazine.com/gallery.php?item=14819, and Shot Glass Journal (http://www.musepiepress.com/shotglass/tim_hawkins1.html), and is forthcoming in The Midwest Quarterly, and Verse Wisconsin.

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