Prayers I Spoke

Prayers I spoke
100 years ago
washed up
on the shore; seashells,
colored glass,
and a manowar.

Honey dust
floated on the air—
a sweet, powdery mist
shimmering in the light
like the thinnest heat
rising from asphalt
waving with
imagined fingers.

It was like a dream.
Like the time i smathered
Mama’s Vanderbilt
silkening powder
all over my body
and became a shimmering,
sparkling mess
that smelled too good
to get near.

I stepped closer
and through the mist,
through
my          self,
I heard those
prayers jib jabbering
and whisper walking
towards me.

You are home, girl.
Don’t fight it. Breath,
girl. You home.

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