Prayer for Socks
Renewer of everything,
I want fresh socks.
I can already feel them on my feet,
warm and thick and fluffed by the dryer.
I want the cotton ones blended with wool,
extra thickness at heel and toe,
the elastic slightly unravelled,
the fibers a little bit loose.
No, I don't want new socks, so tight
you have to scrunch your foot into them
or else roll them up and then unroll them
in order to get them on.
I want socks that have been worn
but still have lots of bounce,
lots of warmth and comfort.
I see my socks tucked in their drawer.
They nudge each other and press together,
anxious, perhaps, to be the ones I choose.
They are brown or black or blue,
dark and purposeful, the way socks should be.
I pick the dark blue ones
with a thin gold stripe around the ankles,
my college colors.
I slip them on and finish dressing
and go forth into the day
convinced I am upheld and supported
by the good earth,
a good God,
and these fresh and wonderful socks.