Friday’s Prayer

In preschool every Friday
we would be given these large blocks
of ice with plastic cows frozen
captive within to chip away at and free with small
hammers. I would wake up every Friday morning
positive of my purpose.

The farther away I float from my umbilical cord my purpose
grows weaker. I’m too exhausted to awake excited on Fridays
now the light of the morning
greets me like mosquito too quick to block
from sucking at my flesh.

The day after my mother died my heart finally froze
and I didn’t have a small hammer to excavate from it the purpose
of why.
The small plastic cows stampeded painfully in my chest that Friday
and haven’t stopped since. I need a child to block
their hooves and break them out on a Friday morning.

Today I awoke to the doorbell being rung repeatedly by a small
girl and as she sold me double sugared coconut crisps at seven in the morning.
And I purposefully did not ignore her polite knocking and ate the cookies at seven in the morning and hoped I’d feel human.
And I felt like a plastic frozen
cow waiting to be freed from a cavernous heart that Friday.

Sometimes I stick blueberries in my ice tray in the morning
they’re small but they make my water taste like a frozen
smoothie. Sometimes I purposefully excavate them. Soothes my heart on Fridays.

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