St. Anthony’s Prayer - Alex Lake

O holy Saint Anthony gentlest of saints,

Where the fuck is my favorite earring? I got the set four years ago at a Savers twenty minutes from my house and I’ve done a lot of legwork since to keep them both in my possession. And yeah, I know I didn’t wear them all of the time so maybe it’s my fault for not taking advantage, but I never remember to wear earrings in the first place and when I did it was usually them so doesn’t that make them special, give them some divine protection anyway? 

I’m not Catholic anymore but I wore an anklet with a charm of your face and my father has never taken off his Saint Christopher necklace a day in his life and that adds up so maybe you could help me.

I wore a little wedding dress and a matching veil when I was seven to get married to God but I’ve felt you more than I’ve ever felt him, the patron saint of lost things, in the apathy of it all. Not in the people, but in the world that won’t shift when you’re trying so hard to grab it and tell it that you’ve lost one of two favorite earrings and they come in a set so can’t everything just stop and cry with you about it for a minute?

But nothing changes. The walls don’t cry. No fish to preach to. No one walks through the door, deus ex machina, here it is.

My life is halved, a time between lost and found. But I’ve learned some things can’t be found or shouldn’t be found or are even never meant to be found so is there anything that can thrive in those loose threads that never knit back into that one sweater from that one time that I’m forgetting the color of now but it’s gone and that’s all I know.

I want to know and maybe you can tell me but right now I’m looking for an earring and my line is open.

Amen.