I must admit I am a fragile thing. Song w/ vulnerabilities,

river w/ wobbling limbs,   child w/ wool for anger.

A congregation of light worships in this finger. Boy,

touch me, watch me mushroom. Touch me, watch me

vapour, watch the wind steal my body for a dance. I am

the warehouse of my family’s joy—say, a bucket-list of

answered prayers. Call me a repentant man’s peace

offering, everything the finger of God wants. I,

delicious pap on a toddler’s gum. I, fresh air every

sojourner desires. A doctor prescribes my name

to a patient—I, dosage for every ailment. *I dey

commot bodi for anywhere wahala tanda. Last night,

my lover banged the door of my body against me—

you break too often as the day, be a man, she says. I don’t

even know what that means. Give me your anger to tend,

watch it wilt, watch it liquefy. No knife would dance

if you turned on the music in my body. No passage for

needles to thread. Pass a comment on the gorgeous ridges

my smile moulds, watch my eyes bud with heaven,

watch them tulip with magnificence. I am what I say

I am.    Pick me, I’d catfish back into the water.

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