“Tomb of Unfinished Prayers”
by Adena M’lynn There are days when words fold in on themselves— like paper cranes in a storm. When grief grows too heavy for syllables to lift, and the mouth becomes a tomb of unfinished prayers. I’ve tried to name the ache, to pull it out like a splinter of meaning lodged beneath the skin of memory— but it refuses to come clean. Instead, it hums behind my ribs, a silent hymn I can’t translate. Some things don’t have letters. Some pain doesn’t rhyme. Sometimes you open your mouth and what comes out isn’t language— it’s breath, or sob, or scream, or silence so loud it swallows the room. I’ve written poems that bled through pages, each line a bandage on something I couldn’t explain. I’ve spoken truth in metaphors because the real words were too raw, too real. And still— it wasn’t enough. Because how do you write the sound of your heart breaking in a language that requires grammar? How do you paint the color of despair without making it beautiful? Some pain refuses to be roman...