• Laura Johnson

After Prayer

by Laura Johnson

when I’ve admitted that--even with You--

I feel like Whitman’s spider, casting fragile

hope across an empty expanse to snag

Your outstretched hand, while the point where I stand

drifts and jolts in the wrong direction. When

I’ve confessed I’ve abandoned dreadful

doctrines and worry where that leaves me with

You. When I’ve thrown up my hands to knowing

the truth that hides beyond a faraway

shore in colors impossible for eyes

to see. That moment, You whisper assurance

of nothing but Love, and my stormy waves

fall slack, as though Jesus has stepped onto

my bow, and now He’s breathing, “Peace, be still.”

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