Jordan Scott
Do wishes count as prayers?
I swallow a star
and let the taste linger
as I wipe away crumbs
from my pale, chapped lips.
The moonlight struggles
to fill the sudden darkness
but I scoop it up with my spoon
and begin to chew.
My mother scolds me
for talking with lunar chunks between my teeth.
“Hey, God. If you can hear me,
I’ll pretend to be yours
if you pretend to be mine.”
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