Poetry by Victoria Melekian

Those slow hot days of summer before sixth grade, 
Bethany and I rode our bikes to mass every morning, 

cutting across the empty lot through the curly weed past the stagnant pond.
We sat in the back on the left side near the cart 

of flickering red candles. Kneeling next to Bethany, 
I was in love with our piety, the purity of our conviction, 

the sanctity of our mission: we would heal Bethany’s mother 
with prayer and love. Behind the white stretch of altar, 

the priest held up the host and we tapped our eleven-year old hearts 
and whispered amen. I believed Our Lady would appear one day 

and tell us fear not. She’d wrap us in her velvety blue cloak 
and we’d smell like pink roses the rest of summer. 

Late August, we huddled in the dark on Bethany’s bed 
and listened to the thump clump of a gurney wheeling 

her mother’s body out of the house. Five days later, 
we sat holding hands at the funeral. When school started, 

I saved a seat for Bethany, but she tapped her heart 
and said I can’t then disappeared into a circle of girls. 

Victoria Melekian lives in Carlsbad, California. Her stories and poems have been published in print and online anthologies. She’s twice been nominated for a Pushcart Prize. For more, visit her website: https://victoriamelekian.com/

Photo by Minna Autio on Unsplash