By Roseline Mgbodichinma
I. In the chapel, the bell rings & the pendulum swings all into solemnity – the same way a mother’s breast becomes hose and stills the clamour of a child,
The only salvation I know is an umbilical cord holding life away from sin – till it is old enough to witness it
II. In this poem, sacrifice is a cycle expelling itself on the days of each month – is the cross not synonym for opposite eggs ascending or descending into a new realm?
Redemption is a woman blooming into herself
III. And what else is glory, if not a woman choosing to breathe amidst the chaos forcing her to shrink?
Grace is the atlas pointing the world to light & she never runs out of stardom
IV. I know three heavens and they reside in the body of a woman; a paradise of curves & rolls, a galaxy of intricacies & tiger stripes, a palace of bones to hold up memory – all stretching onto skin to expound divinity.
& here I declare a woman’s body a temple, anyone who calls this blasphemy is simply faithless
Roseline Mgbodichinma is a Nigerian writer whose works have appeared or are forthcoming in The African writer, Kalahari, Okadabooks, Nigerian Students Poetry Prize 2019 Anthology, West Trestle Review, Hellebore press, JFA human rights, Artmosterrific & elsewhere. She is interested in the humanity of people and blogs at https://www.mgbodichi.com/?m