Quiet Turbulence
Gazing out the hazy plane window,
I’m struck
By the twinkling vastness below and
My own insignificance
Wafts into view.
All of those souls
Tucked
Snug
In their beds. They
Each
Couldn’t possibly
Be loved and guided by
One.
Why would He care about
Every
Ant crawling in the dirt?
And so,
As some people talk
To God on a plane, I
Promptly
Hung up on Him
With a clatter of the receiver.
But as soon as the decision came,
The plane hit turbulence,
As if He objected to my rejection.
I immediately began to pray,
But ever
So
Quietly,
In a dusty corner of my brain,
Lest my guardian angels
Hear and thus
Call me hypocritical.
