Prayer Plant

I sit myself down in this place close to the light, 
darkness at the edges,
the tick, tick, ticking of night-time clocks
echoing in the quiet.
(Too loud.)
The plant's leaves behind me
unfurl towards the lamp's illumination,
artificial albeit bright.
I've noticed they're growing 
up and out, green with life
stretching for the light.
It may be time for a new home.
(Too small.)
I plant myself here couch-side
to pray, awakened by my Father.
“Tick, tick, tick”, I hear Him say, 
"make the most of the time." 
so I do, reading the Hallel Psalms,
remembering my Saviour,

(too kind) who on the night He was betrayed
left the twelve and moved to the garden
where He planted himself and prayed,
ushering in my move
from sin and death to life and freedom,
securing for both He and I (for we are kin),
our place in God's new home.

What my Grandkids will say about me on Oprah

When my grandkids talk to Oprah
    about their Nana, the famous writer,
they will say words were my oxygen--
    to read, to write, to share,
and that I spent way too much money
    at Thrift Stores on books by dead authors--
Emily Dickinson, George Herbert, LM Montgomery
    and Keats.

They will also tell her I loved to sing--
    another form of breathing--
and how I embarrassed them in public
    by belting out the "Tomorrow" song from Annie
or grabbing their elbows in the mall
    while shouting "We're off to see the Wizard!"

They will announce to the world,
    in front of God and everybody,
that my profession as a teacher was their   
    greatest undoing;
constantly coaching them about penmanship,
the correct formation of the letter "a"
    or while reading, pointing out misread syllables in
    a favorite text.

They will oblige Ms. O's prodding by adding the death 
that I couldn't help myself when it came to learning,
    revealing in hushed tones I often resorted
    to using an encyclopedia as torture 
    (the 1956 World Book edition).

My grandchildren will remind her, however,
    (before the commercial break)
my best qualities were the way I delighted in the world,
    showing them wonders in the garden,
surprises in the grass, the avian miracles of
    chickadees and juncos in the branches 
    or robins in the birdbath.

Most of all, when my grandkids talk to Oprah,
    they will tell her my lungs longed for the breath of
    Heaven, the Word, and how its oxygen proved
    my greatest life support throughout my livelong days.
c. Jody Lee Collins 2016