My turtle friend says, Don't ever pray for specific outcomes. When the skiff's mast nearly topples under flames, Don't pray for rain, only for the strength to give it up . . . give it up. Once captain of a big brass boat, I washed ashore on a big bad rock and heard, When we ask for things, we lead ourselves astray. My turtle friend says, Don't ever pray for specific outcomes. Clung to bottle, snuff, pearls . . . and any siren if I found one that clutched back as hard as I should've fought away. Don't pray for love, it only comes when you give it up, when you give it up. The serenity to accept thirst . . . The strength to look from the sea's cruelties to your own . . . The wisdom to pray so you can swallow drowning as it comes . . . And never for an outcome. When you steered the boat, look where you've gone: toward sharks and krakens, away from loved ones waiting at the bay for your return; all for rusting treasure—you just couldn't give it up. But if this skiff can ramp over every wave, withstand each typhoon, and dodge each dark mouth, will I be forgiven? Or will I be cast away? My turtle friend says, Don't ever pray for specific outcomes. For fate . . . To inner god, for inner calm . . . As for the rest, give it up. Give it up . . .
The original publication at Wild Roof Journal.
You should follow me on IG: @JavierWantsCandy.