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