Listen

by Jennifer Freeman

As I kneel by the bed

the words come

like the monotonous refrain of a river.

The same words as the night before and

the night before.

I reach down and

slide my fingers under my knee

to stop the itch that’s traveling

up from the carpet.

Look, my child,

I will show you the way.

But I don’t see,

I’m looking down to fix my crumpled nightgown.

Listen, my child,

I will tell you how.

But the whispered words are drowned out

by the confusion of the day’s events

still replaying in my mind.

I climb into my warm bed and roll over

to gaze out my window.

Outside the fresh, unbroken field of white

glimmers in the moonlight.

Thank you, Lord, for beauty.

I roll back over and

slide down to my knees once more,

telling my Father of my thanks.

My heart hears—

Look, my child, I will show you.

And I saw.

Listen, my child, I will tell you.

And for the first time,

kneeling with humble thanks,

I heard.