Poetry

Prayer

by Jessica Cuello

I remember asking to go the hospital
It was Easter and we were dressed up
We were stuffed and tired from driving
I leaned over the banister to ask

It’s menstrual cramps she said
as if to herself My mother did not share
what proof I lacked

Sickness was repulsive to her

I let my appendix burst inside

I remember begging the gentle wall for relief

That was prayer

I was not menstruating and never had not once

declared an absence in my body

My mother did not say what food we lacked
But she fed us nevertheless with food
from the state and WIC The slab
of bright orange cheese
A box of 100 cracker samples

I remember how the flour melted on my tongue

I ate alone to hide the need to eat

That was prayer

At customs my Nana did not declare her grief
from war Her brother with the broken neck
left behind in her girlhood Limousin
She never told us if he lived

I spied a prayer taped above her bed

Make me an instrument

Welfare in those days knocked on the door at night
to be sure no man was in the house
My mother had to declare she was alone

And offer up a proof of need

Like a prayer But it was not prayer

Jessica Cuello is the author of Liar, selected by Dorianne Laux for the 2020 Barrow Street Book Prize, and the author of Yours, Creature, forthcoming from JackLeg Press in spring of 2023. She is also the author of Hunt (The Word Works, 2017) and Pricking (Tiger Bark Press, 2016). Cuello has been awarded the 2017 CNY Book Award, the 2016 Washington Prize, the New Letters Poetry Prize, a Saltonstall Fellowship, and the New Ohio Review Poetry Prize. She is a poetry editor at Tahoma Literary Review.

FROM Volume 71, Number 1

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