When I Pray for You

When I Pray for You

Marija Leilynn

One of us must be the left one.
One collapsed on the floor behind the wall
where the hushed music plays. To ache
for someone must mean admitting
everything in the mouth is acoustics.
Sounds I hate, sounds I love.
Everything pronounced is silence.
I manage that place. Make a home there,
invade nothing. Nothing, then came us
and we abandoned there, too. I’ll wash our
remains with my hair, I beg

of God. If this liquored perfume tastes that
bitter I’d wait to be acquired as long
as it’s definite. I don’t want to linger I want
to last and most vows I make alone
stale between yes and no. I admit
I close by stuttering. My amen means
to pause for His presence forever, it’s a sound
I hate and love. The low hum comes back
eventually and I’m still in the next room,
the left one, with the door shut and carpet
burning my bare knees.

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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 Annie Spratt