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when I saw God I trembled like a man I used the wrong pronouns —Kaveh Akbar A boy, prettier than me, asked if I were truly an image of God or just dust clotted from a womb. I had the answers. They were wrapped somewhere around the clenching of my palms, & he did get them. At dinner I bricked up my mouth hole with the lord's prayer but didn't say amen because I had learnt to question that, too. This boy, foolish boy, wouldn't know God, his father, even if he looked him in the face. Wonders why he can't sniff rose flowers too, or wear frocked skirts. Maybe I am just uglier in the outside & pale onion white in the inside; maybe I am a sundial without a gnomon as a child without his father. When a black boy does it—it's someone did it. When ‘nother does, it's he did it. Identity is future. "Future" from the Latin futurus, meaning I am, but I still don't know what. Somewhere in 2060, a boy is being promised a sister, but the robots aren't horny
Prosper Ifeanyi is a Nigerian poet.
One thought on “THE OFFING| a poem by Prosper Ifeanyi”
Great work, prosper.