Homemaking

Homemaking

Marija Leilynn

Consider, O Lord, how You pluck agates from shore, hold a pipe
in Your teeth and make gray above me.

Consider each shored mineral swirling with artifact ripples, glazed
in Grandfather’s basement,

marbled by the kitchen window as Grandmother hums alone.

The women, whose proverbs are stitched to their aprons, hemmed soft
to the laces
consider the laces, clinging to their garden.

Consider my body, the pink conservatory of my skin, the webbed
furrows which trap every weak gust.

How, when unhinged, I am of two birds,
both Yours.

Consider my lovers, each with an expiration sewed to his collarbone.
My gaping reservoir of desire
drained easy before its time.

Beloved awaiting, with his raw petalled heart, and Lord where
the groundwater surges forward,

there are hills between which fold me in half, each side better for it.

How I comb and comb that meadow for seedlings
to scoop up home for You,

but my offered hands are hourglassed, expecting the day
to break over me and scatter

that tobacco, cloud and flint, my little ones fishing next to their father.
I, with a handful of stones saying, consider this one.

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Marija Leilynn
Poet & Photojournalist

Marija is a poet and photojournalist from Minnesota. She graduated from The University of Northwestern—St. Paul with a degree in writing and is a self-published author of sometimes, patience. She hopes for a slow, passionate life of attentiveness and artistry, and above all, to become tender. You can find her work on Instagram @mar.lei.lynn. 

Photography by Nida Kurt