by Praise Osawaru
Published September 3, 2021
& I have been running straightforward into
every dream sewn into every night's curtain
in search of a hole burrowed somewhere between
the forest of dreams & the grassland of reality.
there's nothing more gutting than the realization
of the loss of a thing you never palmed.
God cut off something from me or perhaps
it's the horned being that turns a glass of water
into a body of grief—a mass of saltwater—
/ that turns an angel into a wingless bird
/ that turns the morning sky into a sinking voice.
see, I'm searching for a door in a room of stars.
I have been fishing—casting my net deep into a
colony of desolation, with a desire to recover my
treasure. my mother keeps dreaming of my [ ] brother
throwing himself into the haven of her chest.
I still hike a narrowed path looking for a river
that I can love into rain. I still harbor a desire
to pull sunlight / a music box from life's throat
& dance with happiness in my hands.
I am still standing before a looking glass
& holding my face. I am still—
Praise Osawaru (he/him) is a writer of Bini descent. A Best of the Net nominee, his work appears or is forthcoming in Agbowó, FIYAH, Frontier Poetry, Down River Road, The Maine Review, and Moonchild Magazine, among others. An NF2W Poetry scholar, he's the second-place winner of the Nigerian NewsDirect Poetry Prize 2020 and a finalist for the 2021 Stephen A. DiBiase Poetry Prize & the 2020 Awele Creative Trust Award. He's a Contributing Editor for Barren Magazine and a reader for Chestnut Review. Find him on Instagram & Twitter: @wordsmithpraise.