By Muhammed Olowonjoyin
I’m in a universe, trying to milk crumbs
Of dying things from my body. To love this
Place of haunting mistakes. To trust that my
Body is my body.
In this dream, I’m traipsing out
Of a garden of agaves into the city
My body paints
Itself black because boys like me are
Formed by prisms that refract lights our
Bodies will never glow.
I don’t know how to tell God
That I imagine the shape of
My body as the portrait of
My country. Both—gem-houses
Dwindling into moonless nights.
I scream God, abeg on top of my voice, waiting
For a miracle to glide down a hypotenuse
Into the softest angle of my body.
I don’t know
What is deeper than an unfamiliar wound you fall
Into—mouthfirst, in search of healing.
I want to crawl out of this hole.
I, a wingless body trying to take