I have the urge to say a prayer. I do not know to whom. He who once gave me comfort will not hear it, should it come. To whom, then, would I pray? I am its choked-up prey.
Maybe I should entreat a star up there: "old distant friend, Come substitute for my lost speech. I am at my words' end. "That good star deep in ether Won't hear my prayer either.
But I have got to say a prayer. Someone very near, Somebody in my soul is tortured, and demands a prayer. So I jabber on and on Senselessly until dawn.
A. Z. Foreman is a literary translator, poet and language-acquisition addict currently working on a doctorate in Near Eastern Languages at the Ohio State University. His translations from Arabic, Chinese, Latin, Occitan, Ukrainian, Russian, Irish and Yiddish have appeared in sundry publications including Metamorphoses, Blue Unicorn, Asymptote, the Penguin Book of Russian Poetry, and at least two people's tattos. He also writes his own poetry if things are dire enough. Most importantly, if you have a dog or even a tame fox he'd love to pet it.