Mekhala Singhal

this is how we pray

i make repetitions in the evenings: knife, chopping board, rinse, low flame, warm oil. good
morning, i love you. good night, i love you,

and i'm not religious but if the gods were to tell me you were their kin, i'd believe them. glorious
sunlight in your kitchen and it doesn't come in through the window; it stands by the cabinets, it
works at the stove, it dances on the marble floor.

joy, joy, joy,

i saw a bee and thought of you. i saw a flower and thought of you. i made breakfast and thought
of you.

we laugh so hard it feels like dying, and what suffering could ever feel religious when this
laughter exists?

you send me pictures of the moon and i have your bouquet in my bedroom. softcloth memories
to sleep next to, green stems in water, we make repetitions in our comforts, in holy refrains;

this is how we pray.