We only noticed the rain when we stopped to pray
Our faces an oil glow bright enough for as many nights
as those I can’t see coming
outside the walls we made our own
outside the room where I filled plates with cakes thick and sweet
as night
as rain when it doesn’t hide blood
or when the only blood is a knee hugging pavement
a bottom lip kissed a little too hard
and that graffiti is copper and innocent
and not sharp edged
and not tattooed on white men whose glare
belongs nowhere
and can make all the water in a girl’s body turn to oil
turn to soot
when men with swastikas walk past I swear even my blood goes quiet
my bones hold their breath
silence so heavy you almost forget the blessing over the wine
or the bread
or the blessing the girl one seat over whispers to you
this year I want to forget that kind of silence
the walk back from the dinner and I count the number of walls,
memorials, my body, anything hatred could spill onto.
