Poems

Juniper Prayer Beads

Inhale its smell, relax, remember me said
my friend pushing the prayer beads into my hand
Bringing it to my nose is one moment’s journey
How generous is the Juniper tree’s seed
Like the granulated version of red wine
bright and full-bodied from inside
Through my fingers as it is pouring 
it leaves its beautiful scent behind
This is the scent of an ancient church
A kind of censer/incense-burner

Two Jesuit priests appear as I caress the beads
Rose buds glass vase, Mother Mary’s altar
angel trinkets, then blood a lot of blood
because the priests are killed with care in my country
The killer would say “he made an immoral proposal”
He wasn’t yet eighteen
as I grow a few years in one day

How hard/firm is the Juniper tree’s seed 
Like the granulated version of pouring blood
lukewarm gutter lukewarm gutter 
as it is pouring through my fingers
I was blacking out/I was more and more staggering 
They always make you walk anyway
always towards a place you cannot reach
to an out-of-range destination

What about afterwards well there is no afterwards
afterwards is a graveless death
behind a truck or on a passenger boat
stacked like goods piled up on top of each other
like migrants
dying the oldest death like it is a new life 

What about afterwards well there is no afterwards
Aftewards are statistics afterwards is breaking news
State fatalities don’t fit into the prayer beads

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