Time to Pray
Paul N. Dion
When I was four, my father came through the door.
I didn't know what he was there for.
When I was nine, he didn't have the time to play, but he had time to pray.
I wondered what he prayed for.
At fourteen he left again.
Then I was left to fend for myself and tend to my mother.
And answer the door and drive her to church.
I wonder what she prayed for. Was it worth it, did he love her?
And I'd ask myself, did he love me?
The very next year my father had disappeared.
When next we spoke, I felt his anger.
When I inquired, no answer was required.
But hey, he suggested I pray. I wondered what I'd pray for.
At sixteen, he sent me away.
And I was left to rely on my friends and the kindness of strangers.
Took care of myself and never went to church.
I wonder what people pray for. What was worth this?
Do I surrender? And ask myself, did he hate me?
He's leaving again. And he won't be back this time.
Don't leave me with this question on my mind.
I don't care what you prayed for.
You never found it or loved anything at all.
Thought only of yourself, and never saw me.
I now know what they prayed for.
Give me attention, I'm not here to be ignored.
Don't make me doubt myself.
What's wrong with me?
