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rote. (rote). repetition. (repetition).

I remember (remember) the days (days)

of the same (same) weekly prayers (prayers)

Hail Mary (Hail Mary) full of grace (grace)…

Our Father (Father) who art in heaven (heaven)…

I believe in God (God), the Father Almighty (Almighty)…

I didn’t need to think (think)

they poured out of me (me)

as a continuation of my presence (presence)

I spoke those words with reverence (reverence)

I slurred them giggling (giggling)

I rushed them with exit (exit) on my mind (mind)

I mumbled them rolling my eyes (eyes)

I wondered (wondered), “Isn’t there another way (way)?”

When one looks (looks), one finds (finds)

I encountered (encountered)

quiet, prayerful kneeling (kneeling),

loud, jazzy (jazzy) worship songs (songs),

written lists of people (people) prayers,

long, drawn out boring (boring) (boring) prayers of others,

prayers with color, paint and glitter (glitter).

But, then, on Easter (Easter),

I returned to my roots (roots)

and found myself in rhythm (rhythm)

with those around me (me).

Saying prayers of my childhood (childhood).

I noticed the participation (pation) of young and old (old),

the community of voices (voices)

(hum) humming aside each other —

the common belief (belief),

the beauty of belonging (longing),

the lack of fancy words (words) and performance (formance).

I experienced the gift (gift)

of rote (rote)

repetition (repetition).

And, it was good (good).

It is good.