STEVEN SPROTT

Steven Sprott is a writer from B.C., Canada.  His work has been published in some small university journals as well as The Capilano Review’s online journal (ti-TCR #14).  He is a student of nature and literature, currently working on his MA at Queen’s university. Contact him at ssprott@shaw.ca.

THE BELGRADE BALCONY PRAYER

My Lord God, who pulls steeples up from the hard earth:
Turn pale faces into the North Wind that moved in
Over our summer days.

My Lord God, whose buildings manifest oddly
And alike in what they call here Orthodoxy,
Serbia: 

Distant lights twinkle on the horizon for places
More alien than this concrete balcony,
Known to me best through what is already shades
Of frequent guests and old friends I looked out on
Through eye-socket tunnels, somewhere huddled
Far within.

My Lord God, long lost to me in dreams of cathedrals
And North American tree stumps, clumps of wild
Blueberries behind a mossy stone, untold waves
Of what they called Gitche Gumee, roaring higher
Inside than the apartment complex here
Across from me.

Your olive trees are spread over streetlights, rippling
Jitters of a wine-stained table cloth, wicker
Basket table, plastic beer bottle crown, a dirty
Plate and a pocket knife we used to saw the bread
Of life into crumbs all sprinkled like seed over
This concrete balcony.

Turn pale faces into the North Wind that moves in
Over our summer days:
My Lord God who lifts flowers out from the hard earth.

Read Steven’s work and more in Solum Journal Volume I.