prays for more white blood cells

when mom's friend was sick
she'd tell us to pray for his
white blood cells. he had leukemia 
which also sounds like a 
very beautiful poisonous flower.
one with pink & petals-- all orchid-like.
in my bedroom the jungle grew thick
& wild. i always used one space
on the book shelf for god. mom's friend
would give me & Billy tokens 
for remembering god: a framed
picture of jesus-- light emanating 
from his chest in a stream of red &
to blue. mom says that's the holy
ghost shining through him. i thought
it might flow like a water fall &
drench anyone who stood in front of him.
he holds his hand up as if he's trying to 
grasp something. i imagine him
grabbing me by the collar & hosting
me into the picture frame that is also heaven. 
rosary beads ivy-growing up walls &
around the bunk bed posts. sometimes
when i try to sleep they clasp
ankles & yank me to my knees.
they want more prayers. there's no 
amount of praying that'll make
white blood cells. mom would remind us
to pray for them & they'd never come.
i thought of them as small round clouds--
almost like packing peanuts or styrofoam 
beads. they'd come in the window & i'd 
share them with everyone who needed them.
even now years away from my parent's
house the beads still find me on lonely nights
where my god is candle-light & 
smoking rose incense. constrictor around
neck-- appeased only by those ten hail marys.
the ratio is 10 marys/1 father--
because we all know the suffering of 
men is with 10 times that of women. 
mom would roll her eyes & say something
like "does everything have to be a gender
reading." i would probably still be catholic
if mary was god too. she does a lot of 
work you know? maybe we should have been praying
to her or mary magdalene who was probably
jesus's wife. she's the one who 
comes when i call-- pulling the beads up
off the walls of my room with weed killer.
she has curly hair & i've never heard
a prayer made up about her. this can 
be a prayer for her. if i were to make
a rosary for her it would be made of
thorns for all the times i've heard
someone call her a whore-- as if women's
bodies exist across centuries for 
men to adjudicate. maybe she keeps
the white blood cells, steals them
from heaven's clouds & fills her pockets.
planting them in the backyard to 
grow more flowering trees. mom's friend
gave us these little bottles
that say "holy water" on them but i never
filled them up. they sat in the god-shelf 
empty. i took them with me to church
a few times but got stage fright
in front of the baptismal fountain.
now i take glass jars to the creek
where the rosary beads grow tall & thick
all the way up to my shoulders 
this deep into summer. mary magdalene 
in there too-- pressing blood cells into
the earth. she puts a finger to her lips
& gives one to me. it's too late, 
but i keep it anyway.