Let's say we all can be god &
our nation is more magic than
the gait of grim, trimmed with
a microtome. Let's say we all
can choose to be alive & witness
the moth pleating mementoes from
a black petal. The flower, smiling
& dead. You borrowed a spade to
dig up a life for it. You unearthed
the mouth of the grave, forcing it
to spit out the life it gulped, & you
are convinced that at least you can
be selfless. The breeze heavy with
envy, revolted across the trees in
an organized uproar, reaching out
for you. It is still grey in this glass
of bones where there is a rumor of
god in the iron walls that'll wreck you.
Nwuguru Chidiebere Sullivan (he/him/his) is a keen writer of Izzi, Abakaliki ancestry; a Medical Laboratory Science student whose works have been nominated for Forward Prize, Pushcart Prize, and Best of The Net Award. He was the winner of 2021, WAN–Cookout Journal Poetry Prize. He has works published or forthcoming at IS&T,Augur Mag, The Shore Poetry, Mudroom Mag, B’K Mag, The Deadlands, The West Trade Review, Sand Journal, Bracken Mag, No Contact Mag, The Fourth River, and elsewhere. He is fond of his poorly lit room.
Twitter: @wordpottersull1