A bone, a hair, a drop of dried blood
we pray in temples, alters, dripping in gold leaf
in glowing light of candle, we barter
prostrate, kneel, bend pretzeled
holding cup like hands in wanting ways
watering eyes toward dense skies
we recite, mumble, mouth incantations
a silent voice a verbalized trade
receive, we pay tribute on scrapped knees
denied, we find an unkind thought for the reason
Today, as every day we ask
Today, a land mass of multi-colored hands, ask
tweeting birds and furry mammals frolic, we mourn
Sun and pillowing clouds ignore
our overly washed lizard hands
air so clean like a newly sharpened chisel carving out views
trees and daffodils sway to the song of wind
moon shines on schedule overlooking our eyes twitch
we’re small in this pandemic
we are a bone, a hair,
and soon a drop of dried blood
© 2020 Raquel B. Mejia
