In a dream, I start all over again.
The cock spilling its throat upon morning mist,
like a man answering spells on his name.
At the door, there’s a colony of ants sanctifying the day:
Each of them with the burden of grains on their back.
There, I begin as a child, gathering ruins
like bundles of sticks from my country,
questioning the proximity between life and death.
How in twinkle, breath folds like silence,
into oblivion. In this dream, I am backtracking
into a river. That mouth where I enter my fear
through a narrow path, the green-veined leaves
waving at me. I paddle through the breadth
of the length of the river, praying
not to be a thing to be preyed upon.
Lord, I am young, and I’m searching
for forever in your eyes. Look beyond my hands,
Lord, you will see how much suffering
this body has endured until now.
Hold them, these hands, these lonely hands,
feel how broken they have become
until they could no longer be broken.
See how, in this dream, the river looks
calm, unlike my troubled heart. At its feet,
I become one with it, my heart beating in rhythm.
I surrender, screaming, like a man seeking salvation.
Here, in this dream, this poem begins again.
Sarah ADEYEMO, SWAN IX, is a Nigerian poet, editor, writer, and spoken word artist. Author of The Shape of Silence, Sarah is a fellow of the SprinNG Writing Fellowship and has works published or forthcoming in Pepper Coast Magazine, The Shallow Tales Review, The Muse Journal, Everscribe Magazine, and elsewhere. She is a guest editor for Issue 6 (1) of CỌ́N-SCÌÒ Magazine.
