Japa

In her tongue,
My aunt gathers prayers
Tattoos them into each starving taste bud
A fast for the frightening flight ahead
A chant for the blinding of evil eyes
Loud prayers to deafen her village people.
A virtual sprinkling on flight meals yet to be cooked
To keep her gut off the loo
Three Amens for each prayer point.
Until she lands ‘abroad’