The Prayer Beneath Her Ribs

She never shouted her prayers.
She whispered them—
under her breath,
beneath her ribs,
where no one could steal them.



> They weren’t always words.
Sometimes they were just a breath,
or the act of staying alive another day.



> Now, the flowers know her name.
The ground remembers her ache.
And the sky?
It listens when she exhales.