processed prayers

By: Kaia Carter

 

we mail our prayers in padded envelopes,

with tracking numbers and fragile stickers

to corporate heavens.

where angels wear lanyards,

and miracles are backordered.

 

“thank you for your patience.

we value your devotion.”

 

we pray in data to the rhythm

of machines and microwaves

confessions whispered into bluetooth headsets,

waiting for our turn at the keurig.

 

our gods eat pre-packaged grace on lunch breaks.

they drink vending machine wine.

they forget our names and faces

but know our ID numbers by heart.

 

algorithmic compassion.

holy ghost in the server room.

 

i tried to pray with my mouth open

and my hands dirty,

but they said

that wasn’t

             protocol.