Patient On Bed 3 Writes A Poem To The Nurses Stationwhen I say I am dancing
with my sister again
What I meant is,
It is four a.m.
the car brakes
When you find this poem
Know I have always wanted to
be like the moon
Glistening. For me and my sister.
who lived in an asylum
till clozapine became a compass to death
she carried sad songs in her belly
for a season and half
for reasons we didn’t know
Till she told us of what she missed most
The light that was before the call.
That night, she moaned a lot about shadows.
And when I said I am dancing with my sister again
What I meant is, some don’t die. They walk into burning cities
As though that’s the only place to be free.
This dawn, I am walking out of fire
And I can hear the songs. faintly.
The Babies In This WardAre those that came unprepared,
unsure of how long they intend to stay.
No one comes this early
Without hoping for a miracle
3 pounds of concerted worry,
Eyes shut in deep communion with God
The tense conduit of a mother’s guilt
We watched until you
Perfected the art of stillness,
Your body making a truce
With heaven’s claims on you
We spent all night
Imitating God with a silicon bag.
We doubted your survival
But magic is anything you call it
Your resurrection. Your recreation.
Ogunkoya Samuel is a Nigerian poet who lives and writes from Ibadan where he practices physiotherapy. His poems have been published in Kalahari Review, Five2One Mag, Ellis Review, Entropy Magazine’s Enclave, UCity Review and elsewhere. Twitter: @SamuelOgunkoya
Banner Art: Tree & Sky, Digital Art by Robert Frede Kenter (c) 2021. Tweets: @frede_kenter