afternoon prayer
by Aisha Weththasingha
“mehÄ“ enna,”
my grandmother calls,
holds my hand in hers,
a young hand
in a weathered glove.
she’s taking me somewhere.
i’m too warm to care–the
humidity is suffocating and
there’s an eternal buzz:
alien bugs, honking cars,
and the brush of
trees along trees.
she sits me down in front of
a statue. i’ve seen it before.
many times. a thin layer
of sweat coats my forehead.
i watch her strike a match for incense;
its smoke forming a gentle haze.
she whispers prayers as she moves.
i think back to the rocky beach with
its muddy waters and gray sky. the
tide rises; she clasps our hands together in
one swift motion and guides me through prayer–
my voice, an echo.
there’s a stinging sensation of
my knees pressed against the cold tile floor and
the dull hum of a mosquito near our heads but still,
on the beach, the tide ebbs;
i don’t know what we’re praying for
but i know at the end she will feed me sweets.
“mehÄ“ enna” = come here [Sinhala]
Aisha Weththasingha is a high school poet in California graduating in 2026. She has been nationally recognized by the Scholastic Writing Awards. She enjoys reading and kalamata olives.
