White Blanket

By Animashaun Ameen

R said my deepest flaw is wanting
to save everything
and, in reply, I let myself break down
and asked him to save me.

He didn’t.

The whole world is on fire
so this is the wrong time
for me to say I miss my hands.

R doesn’t know this.

Nobody knows how close
I keep the tumbleweeds pretending
they’re the miracle God promised
would roll into my life.

Yes,
the story goes this way sometimes.

The hardest punch I ever took
wasn’t even meant to be for me.
Even John, in search of salvation,
surrendered his head and got nothing
in exchange for his sacrifice.

What about me—a cactus barb and an empty conch?
What about me—God’s weakest soldier?

Here are my bloodied hands: take them.

Which burning city will offer me warmth
if I close my eyes and choose not to drown
the world in water?

BIO:
Animashaun Ameen is a poet and essayist. His writings are mostly centred on memory, sexuality, and identity. His works have appeared/forthcoming in Salamander Mag, Native Skin, Roadrunner Review, Stone of Madness Press, Perhappened Magazine, TheDrinking Gourd, and elsewhere. He lives and writes from Lagos, Nigeria.