Answered Prayer

Now I lay me down to sleep;

so begins their bedtime prayer,

kneeling, their hands folded tightly,

fingers interlaced, or lightly touching,

palm to palm,  heads bowed, eyes closed,

as they have been taught to pray; I pray

the Lord my soul to keep, though they know

nothing of souls harbored deep within them,

some aspect of life’s being, a spiritual concept

well beyond their youthful comprehensions.

But if I should die before I wake, death so distant

and foreign, an unknown least among the importance

of their young lives, Mom and Dad and a favored toy,

stuffed and furry, a comfort on a dark night,

I pray the Lord my soul to take, an innocent request,

expecting nothing taken while they sleep, not their souls

or family, the dog or cat, the goldfish swimming in a bowl,

anticipating instead a new day, a day at Grandma’s house,

snuggly blankets and warm cookies, juice in a cup.

But this is a prayer not shared by parents who fear

that soul be taken they just lay down to sleep, praying,

too, that soul to keep, bargaining, perhaps, pleading,

unwilling to let go themselves of this young soul,

their young prayer answered, innocent, my soul to take.