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You Cut My Chest Open
You cut my chest open on a table and filled the wound with burning coal
I promise this will not be my end unless,
I fan the flames
The eyes are of no use if none of us can spell fire— the mouth is only
valuable if it does not leave a scar on memory
One time I tried to fan the flame, and light leapt out of my blood
It glittered like the lake touched by the sun
until I remembered that my body was not
a dungeon
The way you remember a dream, an image glimmers before your eyes
then you pause to pick the scenes
Fear: it is difficult to keep my heart to myself I have plucked and flung
in the river where only water can keep it pure
So you see, I remain an orchid courting the affection of sunrise
my hands cannot imprison an applause
or quench a pulse
Give me hugs, like vines over a wall
this will not wrap a man's victory—
my mother did not nurture a thief
I spent so long praying for my own grace ;
a cathedral tongue I am gracious with hope
It is not a long drive to heaven if you want to talk about repentance!
Grief is Not an Empty Smoke
A thud / the ground may split open to welcome the body / I am torn from sleep / today like darkness / scatters over my wall / my heart rebels louder than before / my face finds my hands and buries itself / my reasons for living takes a back flip of my faith / what if this was me? / drooling from the mouth like an imbecile / shivering like the ripples from the ocean.
She / my sister / is trying to keep her head above death / like water / it has come up her neck / I am searching her a prayer / and then / a chance / I say / God / please / do not cripple my last joy / do not let the enemy find our mother's tear / grief is not an empty smoke / and sometimes I wish my eyelids become too heavy / to open up to it's embrace / everyday / death finds a way to remind me that I am / nothing more than an hourglass.
Yesterday is a Monogram Stitched inside My Tongue
A rose: in its final moment I am wilting into space
happiness Is a lie I rehearse if not a lie
then, a performance
Like bones, sprayed with the last touch of dirt
what is left of my life has no meaning
but you say come to me all ye that are heavy laden
and I tell you, God I cannot escape this body
It's crushing hollowness governs me nothing here is
a lullaby and even so, remedy will not cripple me
the dirt has tucked itself under my pillow my father
believes the crucifix will fetch me and my sister believes
the anointing will polish me I will shimmer, maybe
but misery sometimes defies oil or juice yet, I have promised
not to take my own life accept my apologies, lord I cannot pray
myself out of this prayer
cause for every memory laughing in my face I sold liberation for shame
I am just a woman with an illuminated darkness broken beyond repair
My beauty is parched my teeth can no longer hold laughter
yesterday is a monogram stitched inside my tongue
I fear lord, I fear that I may spend the rest of my life preparing to die.
Annah Atane is a Nigerian writer. She holds a BSc in animal science from the University of Maiduguri. Her works have appeared in the Brittle Paper, The Kalahari Review, Valiant Scribe, Ric Journal and elsewhere.
