SUNDAY, SOMETIMES

Sometimes, I turn off the lights,
Hang thin colored paper from the windows,
Play church bell chimes from my phone
And kneel

My knees hit the crusty dorm carpet floor
And feel just the same as the worn-down velvet
Of genuflecting on my stark white tights

Sometimes, I start with a creed
Chest full of memory
as I whisper the beginnings
Then I stumble and become winded
from words, I can’t quite remember

I hope this doesn’t count against me,
In only the soft, simulated window light
I see the Lord, atop a hill
I see Mary, covered in hay and smiling
I see a little girl, in her Sunday best, holding her mother’s hand

Sometimes, I pray to a god I never really believed in

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Lydia Williams, 20, Beloit - USA ✯ IG: @terror_of_beauty

“Lydia Williams is a literary studies and creative writing major in the vast American cornfields. They have carved out a niche of evocative body horror, desire, and the nostalgia of their midwestern Catholic girlhood. Lydia is studying diligently and aspiring to make name for themselves in the Chicago poetry scene.”