Why bother emailing the gods, too busy
playing Roblox or watching all seven seasons of Grace and Frankie
why bother texting the gods, off playing golf in Scotland
teeing off at Old Course or Castle Stuart
nudging the ball closer to the hole
when the others aren’t looking
why bother with tangled prayers pleading
for a stone tablet with ten reasons to live
Put photos of your sweet-faced children
next to your pills, the phone numbers of friends
in your car, grab your iPhone when a tall bridge
summons or a wide oak tempts
listen to the “Ode to Joy” when you are strung out
on the stoops, a pile of empties by your side
or you feel death nibbling around the edges
and you don’t give a shit
What of yoga, cat cows, tadasana, shavasana,
child’s pose regressing to safety
breathing slowly, long exhalations
shanti shanti shanti
until the urge passes like a soft breeze
or the morendo in “Für Elise”
and your shredded soul looks up at the godless sky
and smiles for the first time in weeks
Grey Sparrow Journal 