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saying graces

the prayers of people who pray a lot are
like threadbare seat cushions. they used to be

floral, now faded, depressed by
many rock bottoms, thinning sponges soaked

in sighs, pains, whispers and
dried out again under the refracted

sun through those windows – remember
in school they said glass is a slowmoving

liquid? that oldfashioned glass windows
get thicker at the bottom as they

age, like the ghetto girls grandmother
prays for while looking up through those

windows. and the sunlight flies faster
when you sit praying in the morning, slower

at night, perhaps, it still comforts you and
if you close your eyes, do you believe it is still there?

About me

  • I'm call me aja
  • From nyc
  • 20something, black, woman, reader, writer, about to be a student again. i think i'd like to be heard (or read). child/grandchild of immigrant folk. yearning to travel. desirous of wisdom. a little bit ordinary, but working at being less so.
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