Prayers For Detroit: Inspired By The Gunshots Outside Of My Bedroom Window
Praying for the deep sleep dreamers
and the nonbelievers.
For the secrets
and their keepers.
For those whose hearts match the shattered beat
coming from the boombox speakers.
Praying for the broken glass on the pavement.
For the nights when you didn’t think that you would make it,
filled with regrets of paths not taken,
and bad choices
all made for the sake of payment.
Praying for the emptied bottles that didn’t hold the answers.
For the poles and their dancers.
For the absence of second chances,
and the tar-filled lungs of those with their sleeping cancers.
Praying for those who don’t know what to wish on at night
because they can’t tell the stars
from the downtown lights.
Praying for a day when things will be alright.
For those who’d give anything to see in the dark,
so they set fire to houses
and watch them burn bright.
Praying for the echoes of anonymous screams.
For the rain that washed away the chalk-drawn dreams
of lost things done
by the hand of a child;
Just another one of Mother Nature’s schemes.
Praying for the dirty looks from strangers.
For the night time and its dangers.
For all of the unanswered prayers,
and the games created
only to benefit the rule-breakers.
Praying for all of the history gone up in flame.
For the paranoia and the pain.
For the disbelief and the shame
of the residents who live here.
Nothing will ever be the same.
Praying for the bullets falling like stars,
for the children hit by cars.
For the careless acceptance of things as they are.
For the swapping of green paper and white lines
in back alleys behind bars.
Praying for the children without a mom or dad.
For those who let their future be defined by the past.
For the victims who were stabbed
for a pair of shoes and 13 dollars in cash.
Praying for those with blood on their hands.
For the empty refrigerators,
and the one-night stands.
For those struggling to meet the high demands
of low wages to support their family.
God knows they’re doing the best that they can.
Praying for the broken, abandoned buildings
that are never asking to be fixed.
For all of the people who fell victim to Kwame’s tricks.
For those who get by with their humor and wit
and aren’t afraid to stand still
even though the broken clock on the wall still ticks.
Praying for those reaching for the hands of Time as it passes,
desperate to hold on to the sands of time
as the hourglass smashes.
Praying for those who see the world through rose-colored glasses.
Speramus Meliora;
Resurgent Cineribus.
We hope for better things;
It will rise from the ashes.
© Gina Clingan 2017
From my book, Everything After, which can be purchased here.
