Coming Into Prayer – Angie Alkove

High in the quiet snow covered mountains,

My heart

Ushered by a dream 

Awakened to darkness 

Startled into revelation

A year since my breast was cut away.

I will never be the same.

In the dream

A dark star awaits,

The star reflected in scans and biopsy reports, 

In long pauses and shaky voices 

Of nurses 

And doctors 

And heads of departments

In the scientific names and details 

Critical to bodily survival, 

Lost in piles of paperwork.

In the dream 

The star is no longer hidden deep within, 

But centered above me 

So that

I lost myself in what appeared to be

A twisted cross of ebony

Turning toward the darkness 

Walking though my body,

Completely alone, singled out

I found myself

Coming into prayer.

Not through the door of an imposing cathedral, 

Not on my knees at my bedside, 

But through a softening 

Given by time 

A lens to focus my breath

Prayer is not a universal language like music or beauty,

Prayer welcomes the unknown

Prayer is the call to listen

Prayer disarms the mind

Prayer creates form from loss

It is the labor of the soul turning inside out.

It is the

Seed sprouting 

Bud opening

Fish splashing

Bird singing 

Tree swaying 


Where the visible is given to the darkness, 

The hidden and held lost in light.

Angie Alkove -3/07/2023