Prayer Bones by Ian William Douglas

Prayer Bones
Ian William Douglas

And the nights were long, weren’t they? Cavernous
Things, they drew you to them, outward and away—
To the hungering fields wracked with winter.

The nights were fathomless; the wind, the low hills
Dwindling. The unforgiving light was your own.

You fell to your knees, didn’t you? Lost yourself
To the frostbitten ground. Tore at the gracelessness
Inside of you, while helplessly calling her name.

Until, as from nothing, nothing would open.

SELECTED BY SOPHIE KLAHR

Why I love this poem is its deep mystery. Not just because of what’s within the poem, but also the fact that I’ve had it on countless refrigerators and walls as I’ve moved.

I’ve had it on countless refrigerators and walls as I’ve moved (and I’ve moved a lot); my copy is stained, full of pinholes and unpeeled-off tape edges. I don’t know where I found the poem or when I began to carry it, but it’s been many years.

And perhaps I love it because I don’t really know The Why; I’ve never tried to analyze it, to take it apart for craft or understanding—I have left it as its whole self, a wave or a wind undeciphered.

I carry the poem, and it carries me along.

ABOUT SOPHIE KLAHR

Sophie Klahr is the author of Two Open Doors in a Field (University of Nebraska Press), Meet Me Here at Dawn (YesYes Books), and co-author of There Is Only One Ghost in the World (Fiction Collective Two), which won the 2022 Ronald Sukenick Innovative Fiction Contest. Her writing may be found in The New Yorker, American Poetry Review, and elsewhere. Reach out to learn about her editorial services, including Office Hours, submission management, manuscript & individual poem editing, and more at sophieklahr.com/editorialservices.