by Olivia Bell
I pray for Robert Pattinson, the last true movie star,
I pray for the popcorn dinner at the movie theater,
I pray for America and all the beautiful lesbians in it.
I pray for the labor and delivery section at the hospital.
I pray for a phone that stays charged,
that I am not forever in the business of conservation.
I pray for love in the Libra moon and I try to bring it into my life.
I pray you stop acting like you’re famous,
or at least stop acting like you’re too famous for me.
Don’t laugh I am being serious.
I pray for good music this Saturday. That the DJ is old and gray.
I pray he spins on vinyl and the crowd knows how to dance.
The hustle, the bus stop, the double-arm-swing.
I pray one night and dream of a dark painted horse in purples reds and blues.
To interrupt his dreams Salvador Dalí would let small objects fall.
I pray I am never caught and if I am then at least it is too late.
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Olivia Bell is a poet living in Harlem. She can be found on X @OliviaBell812.