Pray Without Ceasing

It’s time to read the book again,

the one I tried to read annually,

Franny and Zooey, a book

in two halves, two stories folded

together like a sugar sandwich:

a girl faints, disenchanted

with love and life, and goes home

to lie on the couch, praying.

A boy reads an old letter

in a bathtub, his mother nearby,

and all the love and grief reveal

themselves in steam and echo…

It’s the kind of book you read

first, gripped, not understanding,

that keeps unfolding in meaning.

Why did I stop? Did I outgrow

these characters, growing up

themselves? Am I too old to love

the young? That can’t be right.

The generations are unfolding

now, the new baby in Nashville,

the one due in Santa Cruz. Next

week my father might die

on the table in Peoria. Will it help

if I pray without ceasing? If we

are written in the book of life,

it’s important to keep reading…

— Babs