Malaika King Albrecht

 

 

 

 

The Mirrors in Our Chests Can Break 

 

 

Her breath after the fever

too quiet of a song,

how can I hear anything but fear?
 

I invent superstitions:

braided hair and salt water prayers.

I learn how to be still


until the shimmering’s my vision.

Each air molecule, a lantern,

quivers with its own aliveness

 

and spells god’s many names.

There’s never enough time

to speak them all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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