By Hassan A. Usman
Into March, I follow my misfortune. I am catastrophic—
a standout among the recipes for a sad poem.
I annihilate the carnation flowers sprouting
inside of me, what I let grow are a raven’s eggs,
darkness, & an open wound.
I swear I’m not possessed— I like to think of
the knife as a good friend, unlike a ray of light,
you say: you sharp creature, cut into the skin,
into the coursing blood, & it obeys.
Whatever gives me loyalty, gives me joy. But
would you ever believe if I told you that the bliss I pursue
is an ordinary utensil?
Again, I remember Leo. I have seen him in different places
including graveyards, the point of intersection
between us is loneliness;
the wind took my cat
from the proximity to his cage, from my gaze—
a poem about destruction.
Hassan A. Usman, NGP II, is a black (performance) poet and a lover of cats. Hassan enjoys cooking, listening to Nigerian street music, and juggles writing with modeling. He tweets @billio_speaks