Please Father, it’s your daughter Jeanne.
I’m trembling down to my toes
About the politicians
who won’t work together, but like to separate.
About the cartoon in the New Yorker
that shows You preferring the earthlings who don’t believe in you.
About the melting of ice,
the species endangered; what is evolution? what is destruction?
About the media
who keep suggesting I am responsible for the imbalance.
About my ego that denies
You are asking me to be a Christ now and in the future.
About my aging which renders
me a child again, but one who knows better.
So, Father, it’s your daughter Jeanne,
in the flow towards You, surrounded by all your children.
less fearful, now that You listened.