Rules for Praying

by Vanessa Caruso

Returning.

Life is never elsewhere.

Lifting the laundry off

the chair and becoming aware

of breathing is risky:

life swells in, then, the

impermanence of all I know

unlatches, like a genie in a bottle

needing fresh air,

acknowledgement.

Praying is as vulnerable as wanting

a child. That’s why

this feeling in my stomach—

may be hunger, nausea, worry

or longing. Or all.

I follow warmth and weight

to find my body’s open gate

today and stay.

Pull the thread

of my brows taut,

let them fall

like a garage door

over my thinking.

The answer is Yes:

this is a good use of time,

an end in itself.

It is enough to live.

This is not an audition.

I already have the part of

person.