Supplicant by Sarah Russell

At the Cathedral of St. Anthony,

guardian of the lost,

I light a candle, pray for you --

not because I believe,

but because I am helpless.

Telling you I understand is cheap.

Instead I make a wish, light my worry 

from another worry's flame --

burn wax and wick, my plea 

reduced at last to soot 

in a bed of sand, hoping 

for saint or god or angel's wingspan 

wide enough to shelter flickering souls.

Sarah Russell has returned to poetry after a career teaching, writing and editing academic prose.  Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Kentucky Review, Misfit Magazine, Red River Review, Ekphrastic Magazine, and Black Poppy Review, among others.  More poems at www.SarahRussellPoetry.com.