Grieving Prayers
by Ellen Zhang
His little hands laced and zippered up
around my collarbones
whispering to me that he wanted to be
with me and not be afraid
because every night he dreams
in black and white about
monsters and bombs
a bridge between mere dreams
and harsh reality
I’m sorry I told you to
be a man and not cry over nightmares
I’m sorry I yelled at you
for spilling the cranberry juice on the carpet
I’m sorry I scolded you to
stop running around the house
I’m not terrified because there’s nothing left
Everything’s in color when flames spread
Your rose-bud mouth parts like the red sea
Too late to pray like this on my knees
The shrapnel penetrated before shrieks were heard
Illusions of safety dulled and blurred
I wish you’d cry than
me ululate over wounds across your chest
I’d rather it be cranberry juice
than blood that smears the ground
Dear, stand, I beg you
run, jump, skip anywhere you wish
Sternum too brittle to cage my agony when
war is the only religion we all believe in
Ellen Zhang is a Sophomore at Harvard University. She has been published in The Albion Review, Teen Ink, Creative Kids, Cuckoo Quarterly, Tuesday Magazine, other magazines. She is the Editor-in-Chief of Prescriptions, a semesterly Harvard publication integrating medicine and humanities. In addition, Ellen has received national recognition from the Scholastic Art & Writing Awards.