Prayers a poem from the New Yorker

Prayers
by Rae Armantrout

November 10, 2008

1.
We pray
and the resurrection happens.

Here are the young
again,

sniping and giggling,

tingly
as ringing phones.

2.

All we ask
is that our thinking

sustain momentum,
identify targets.

The pressure
in my lower back
rising to be recognized
as pain.

The blue triangles
on the rug
repeating.

Coming up,
a discussion
on the uses
of torture.

The fear
that all this
will end.

The fear
that it won’t.