A prayer
A carrot cake’s smooth
cream cheese frosting
melts over raisins, plump,
brown women wrapped
in shawls of coconut.
My tongue slides between
them. I take their blessing
in between my teeth.
Light penetrates
the interstices of the leaves
to warm the forest floor
just enough for
Jack-in-the-Pulpit.
The slope of a child’s cheek
falls away beneath her lashes,
the ropes of her hair
bind my wrists.
Words shimmer in the air
just before they reach my lips.
I hear them in your voice.
I open my palms and they land,
spreading like light
leaking between my fingers.
I will take them between my teeth,
let them shape my voice.
I will sing
lullabies, hosannas,
songs of freedom,
while your lashes stitch closed your eyes
and your ears curl away,
shells in the ocean.
Jennifer Pruden Colligan lives in Nassau, New York. Her work recently appeared or is forthcoming in Spoon River Poetry Journal, English Journal, Ginosko Literary Journal, Arsenic Lobster Poetry Journal, and Blue Collar Review. She was a finalist for the 2006 Gival Press Poetry Award.