Drowning
                 for Aisha

Inshallah, 
                I'll find you where the
sun chases the tail of night —
                ever bound to that cycle of 
infinity — 
the way the heavens ordained it. 

Always,
               I've known one precious thing falls to raise another — 
              the hair untethered from its sebaceous follicle, 
              the fire-kissed ground brimming with its first sprout. 

Always,
             I've known like rain, 
We come from unknown distances 
& through gravity we touch earth 
& the ground soaks/swallows us
& the ground feeds what remains of our bodies to the sea
& then through god we become the sea.

Yet 
             I will not embrace this loss as 
nature's recycling. 
No. 
             To be reaped on the eve of your blossoming,
             To be robbed of your climax 
at rising action is a sordid prank. 
Aisha,

What did it feel like
              To know water is the greatest tragedy — 
healer & destroyer in the same plot.
They say

Anansa 
             forced the river into you.
They say 
             the river enamored by your beauty 
wrapped you tight in its tentacles.
They say
             your body weighed three mountains
the day your father lost the rainbow in his 
eyes. 

Yesterday,
             We gathered in white coats & 
candles —
a horde of bitter souls, 
feet deep in a puddle,
the sky blue & bloated & I 

Wish 
            I knew the ways of water
so we wouldn't have this conversation,
so I could whisper:
            dear, 
                   you can enjoy the evening 
                                   just as much from here.



Anatomy of an impractical idealist

head 

/ yards and yards / of gossamer dreams / in starry sky configurations / willow tree / lodged in each gyrus / nerve of  blue cinnamon / gazelles leaping / from area 1 to 41 / pixelated rainbow unicorns / body arched / in opistothonus // 

eyes 

/ sirius in a glass orb /aurora borealis / half the sun / & all of the sun /ocean wider / than the caverns between your name / the future you cannot swallow //

mouth 

/century old magma / steady stream of broken words / abecedarian to keeping pledges / cud of crippled ten pound promises / the uvula / half-split & / already on its way / as you open wide / wreath of bright / dead flowers //

belly 

/ churned gravel / purple chyme / time, gormandized / & again / nothing to prove it / scaphoid abdomen / butterflies taxidermied / along the greater curvature /a draping of / omelette omentum / topped with / plump mice / & how they nibble away / such lavish cheese //

feet 

/ ten rays of silicon bone / flat on the hard earth / & the earth is also a fire that / will end the body / & the body plants its sole of baobab roots / in the earth / the fire //

to move this body / is to spit on nature's forehead / to thrust / headless / into the world / to say / I am something special / as if you are not of / sand & water //



Litany in the bardo

Keep me 
in the chiming of glockenspiel
or an eternal breve 
on the stave of a summer song.
I am a winged tuft of merry dirges. 

Keep me
in the stillest pond so I may 
caress the lilies with a phantom hand & 
cheer on as they defy drowning. 
& when the fireflies erupt at twilight,
let my body welcome them. 

Keep me 
in a rainbow dream.
I am a menagerie of colours
unwinding the monochrome 
of your gloomy day. A pastiche 
of enigma spread over the heavens. 

Keep me
in the heart of a star 
at the cliff of our young mountain. 
The star will hold memories of days
I was a well-bred brinjal to
your holy cherry. 

Lay me in the sweet sweet
yolk of yesterday, darling,
in the soft bed of rosy promises. & 
sniff in the wild musk of 
our figures intertwined where
I god, you god, 
& the world watches on.

I have become a melody in the marsh, 
                the grey wind for every rustling of reed stalk. 
                         & now keep me no longer as
                           fledgling for I've grown a multitude 
                                  of phoenix down.
                                       Love, it is time.
                                                   It
                                                   is
                                                time &
                           oh what a feeling it is to have the sky.

About the Author:

Inimfon Inyang-Kpanantia is an Ibibio writer, singer and medical doctor. Winner of the WNDRRNG prose contest 2020, finalist for the K and L prize for African literature 2021, longlisted for the Commonwealth Short Story prize 2022, and the Awele Creative Trust Award 2020. His works have featured on the Kalahari Review, Eboquills, Nigerian News Direct, and elsewhere. 

*Feature image by engin akyurt on Unsplash