They lisp, they scream, they often stutter
I listen to the prayers they utter:
angry and frightened, cries come in tomes,
harsh and violent and hopeless poems.
A woman, I’ve always put them first,
denying my needs, my wants, my thirst;
Their claims pile up and pile until
I cannot walk; they importune still
I sink under the weight of their sin and hopes;
and pray for intercession from all of these dopes.