My Sacred Place

By Ranae Pearson

I have my own

Sacred Place.

I’ve found it

While kneeling here,

Alone,

In the basement.

I would have liked

Lush green grass

Beneath my knees,

And

I would have loved

To have heard

Birds singing

Instead

Of the constant

Rumblings of

The old freezer.

But

Somehow the Spirit

Didn’t seem to care

Whether I was kneeling

Near cement walls or

Quaking aspen trees.

I needed

Spiritual guidance.

I needed answers …

And I received them,

Right here,

Across the room from

The canned fruit,

Near the washing machine.