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Wormhole | Timi Sanni

Wormhole | Timi Sanni

Wormhole | Timi Sanni | Agbowo | Reincarnation Issue 2022


after Kaveh Akbar; after Richard Siken; after Ilya Kaminsky 

This is the season where grace is most difficult;

hunger, prominent; the body constantly running

out of fuel. Hey, wild hands drumming,

can I have that boyish zeal? Windows clapping,

red dogs barking in the streets, can I have, again, 

those gone days where the only consequence

was fun? I am losing the heart of my youth. I am

stacking, with shaky hands, jagged rocks

by the shore of this blue dream—knowing

that every pebble is a moment balanced in time,

& waiting for the collapse. How now the wind

tears through it all. This is not how it ends. This

must not be how it ends. Tell me about that year

when I threaded the eye of a storm, how life

had only just begun, how it was cold and no one

could breathe. I was on a mare, somewhere

in the sky, & all around me the clouds were falling,

cotton fluff by cotton fluff by cotton fluff, when

at once, I pierced the fabric of the world & sewed shut

the mouth of the rogue wind. I can do it all again.

Timi Sanni

Timi Sanni writes from Lagos, Nigeria. He was the winner of the 2021 Anita McAndrews Award Poetry Contest. His works have appeared in Black Warrior Review, New Delta Review, Lolwe, Palette Poetry, and elsewhere. Find him on twitter @timisanni

Photo by Iswanto Arif on Unsplash

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