Round shadowed blues singer on the banjo,
quivering face of the possessed muse,
with a single string finger the yellow evening
and make the misery in us seep along
the much treaded footpath
of this dance that eagerly quakes
on our slow tiptoes and arched heels.
Give us breath to move against
the collarbone of the dead hour,
to feel your chest heave out of pale buttons
so the dark skinned woman in me would fade
into the background of an awakening deity;
that bread unleavened— a puff of flour
in the harmattan rain’s feverish mirror.
Make the puddles tambourine;
the gladness of our feet beating down
the rising panic: there’s no oracle
to soothe the sadness, to soften
the incoming looseness in the head.
Graves are shambling among roots
and stones and bird nests are crackling
with dried grass sweetened fever.
Give us space to loop the evening light
around the hidden pearls of that slow smile
and pull you into the moist dark of our mouths.
We want to own your anguish too, stretch it
taut across the room until your tongue is curved
around our open mouths waiting for a bite
of the chorus, of the silent awe that comes
scrambling awake from all that pain.
Author bio
Osahon Oka is a poet hailing from the Bini speaking part of Nigeria. He enjoys reading English translations of poems. He is a winner of the KIS Poetry Prize, 2024 as well as the Visual Verse Autumn Writing Prize 2022. His poems have appeared on Fiery Scribe, Down River Road Review, Poetry Sango-Ota and elsewhere. He can be reached on X @onyemazua7735 and on Instagram @warpedpoetic.