like a friday prayer, your
breath blows like a reminder into
me, like the maiden call of
prayer into a firstborn’s right
ear, i turn to you like a sun
-flower to God’s star, my
fingers leaning into your
chant of my name, one
for each crystal bead, a war
-cry, the woman
-soldier in a man-army, gripping
the sheets of my foremothers who
left like birds at the afterglow, home
is between these two pine tree
prayers.