prayers

I think about my grandmothers prayers

under a sunburst ceiling

it was an old blood color

sort of red brown and muddied

I think she wanted my freedom

and god couldn’t see another way

I clearly can’t give life

I’m all dead leaves inside

a manufactured product

of a man who did not hold me

i can’t use your god’s tools

they were never meant for me

– Sheila Cordova

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s