fatima shrine

the coins clinked as i dropped them in the box
"three dollars to light a
candle"

i grew up sleeping with a broken rosary
under my pillow,
dreaming the dreams of a lost little
girl with whispers instead of
smiles.

there's something that takes my breath
away in that circular room,
with its walls lined with candles.
well,
besides the excess
carbon dioxide burning brightly
in every corner.

i lit my own candle,
placed it in an empty alcove,
touched my fingertips lightly to
the base and tried to remember
what it means to pray.

instead i closed my eyes,
imagining the heat from the flame would penetrate
my skin to thaw the forgotten
corners of my soul.

so maybe then i can blame the oppressive
heat of the room or my
oncoming headache
led me to believe, for just a moment,
that i could hear the prayers
dedicated to
all the other candles too.

a/n: I don't know to limit my emotions into words.