Jim Doran and Amy Moffitt

Jim Doran, “John Cage Says”
Created using Amy Moffitt’s poem (below) as inspiration

August Prayer
By Amy Moffitt

The singing of the crickets
and late summer cicadas
is not soothing my nerves
as it usually does.

I am straining to hear You
to know that You’re listening…
for some form of direction,
a sign that You care.

I am so afraid that You’re not there.

The days evaporate in the heat.
I watch them fly away
through the hazy-thick summer air
up, over the rooftops, away.

I am longing to hear You,
to know that there’s meaning
that these days racing from me
are a matter of Your concern.

I am so afraid that You don’t care.

There is no breeze through the open window.
Sweat springs up and trickles down
as though every pore were crying
salty tears tracking paths on my skin.
I am begging to hear You,
to know I’m not by myself
that the sadness I carry
is a burden You share.

I can’t do this alone.
Answer me.


Jim Doran, “A Love for Three Clams”
Inspiration piece provided to Amy Moffitt

Free, and alone in the world
By Amy Moffitt

It’s dark, but the city lights reflected on the wet street seem to form a lighted path in front of her. She follows it, staggering only a little bit. Only a little bit. Not really enough, even, for anyone else to notice. Not really.

To comfort herself, she starts to sing a bit, just a little quiet whispery tune at first, but as she moves along, zig-zaggedy following the lights on the pavement all the wandery way home, the speed with which she’s pushing her legs creates a sort of intensity to the notes. When her feet hit the pavement, her voice jolts, the breath pushing out with more force. It startles her, but then the force of her own breath, her own voice, makes her feel less afraid.

It could be as late as 2-3am. She’s not sure. No matter. This is her city. She’s walked these streets alone many nights, using these same street light reflections to guide her home, talking to the trees and singing songs to the stars as she goes. She sings to herself “It will be alright, it will be alright, it will be alriiiiiight”, a middle of the night lullaby to her tired feet, the dirty street, the tree just ahead drooping down to the sidewalk, the muddy sky with its flecks of starlight, and the invisible companion she imagines walking with her on nights like this.

And it will. It will be alright. It will. It will.

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