by Nwuguru Chidiebere Sullivan
a night burns itself into an owl’s spectacle in the
quest of light // as I watch my father brew his pain from
a raw vinegar // it did not take me long to peek // the exact point
at which grief seeps into his body // or what do you say of
a rickety roof rubbing itself on a bubbling sky? // I’ve watched him
wake up at night to // empty himself of every river his body houses // he
does this once or twice every night // the doctor says
when diabetes floods a man’s body // or makes his bladder a delta // every night
becomes a bat that serves him a musty vigil // as an antejentacular coffee //
survival is how he drapes his strength // over the proboscis of all the dipterans
waiting to // titrate his urine to a yellow endpoint // I keep petitioning the moon
on his behalf // for photoshopping his quietude // that’s
a subtle way of vivifying heaven // to a courtroom // where one can file a case //
against the climate hovering over his body // because a man’s body can not be
the temple of God // & remain a swelled sky with a leaking roof
Nwuguru Chidiebere Sullivan (he/him) is a keen writer of Izzi, Abakaliki ancestry. He is a Final Year Medical Laboratory Science Student, a Forward Prize nominee and the winner 2021, WAN–Cookout Poetry Prize. He is found of his poorly lit room where he tweets @wordpottersull1 and he believes that asking for a pact of light grows him into a greenhouse. He has works published or forthcoming at IS&T, The Shore, B’K Mag, Tilted House, Journal Nine, Sub-Saharan Mag, Analogies & Allegories. Wondrous Real Mag, Rulerless, The Deadlands, TSTR and elsewhere.
Hyades Magazine 