By Mina Talebi, TIWP Student

I am peacefully on my knees for you
Hands and feet are gentler still
Butterflies fill my lungs and beat until I look up at you
Eyes sad like a little boys
Joints hard like your father’s

My choice to pray to you was no choice at all
I burn altars and frown at crosses and still my knees scream and my neck goes stiff
Tell me, Father, how long will this take to rinse from my skin
How many Hail Marys
How many days in the sun

No one knows what comes after death
But you probably hope it’s flowers and your friends and a pretty woman and a cold beer and a fat joint
Let me be the pretty woman, or at least the man who rolls the joint with dusty fingers
Or even the cold beer can, a little dented but perfectly drinkable
I could be a flower for you
Picked, wilted, but maybe a little loved
Yellow with courage and white with anger
Tell me, Gardener, how long will this take to rinse from my skin
How many watering cans
How many days in the sun

Birds don’t know about planets and planets don’t care about birds
But I would teach you about each other and you would hug
And your spine would crack under the weight of some world, you poor little sparrow
You baby brown bird
I would cup you in my fingers and feed you back to the earth and mark your grave with sticks
Something important lies here, some breakfast for the earthworms, some symbol of too much too soon
I hope you know that even dead birds are loved
But tell me, please, Sparrow, how long will this take to rinse from my skin
How many pebbles and stones
How many days in the sun

How many ways to run around and away from your forearms,
Your minty teeth
Your crooked smile
Please, Father, let this rinse from my skin like blood
Let this sit in my soul like it has a deed and no other plans
Let this persist through all of the sunlight