Songs escaping out of bones
There’s a litter of vowels in my mouth,
a fettered dirge I haul into the wind
-scarred afternoon. There’s lament tinseled
with wings, flyleaf of lyrics oozing
into rain. There’s murmur, burnt, fingered
like an organ, and walking like a ballad
into this noodle of winds, I bond with home
-land again. Catch me like a pitch
of pollens, hurl me into knockwursts.
How I cherish this purple-plumed blur
of rain. How this warren is warmth
piled upon warmth, longing in humming
fluid. There’s rain at noon, still the sun drips
its flush of scars. Birds, tilted in their pages,
soaring from line to line, sentence to sentence.
Reading is soaring, the sky, a blue
-burnt manuscript cuts like moments
into memory. When you find me sift
through blade-sharp clouds. Split me.
Nothing but songs. Sounds in hardbacks.
Body in leathered doubts. No place as pliant
as a plait of home, no moment as mild
as a mud of melody. When the rain begins
to nap, I abandon the figs and marry
the small, shapely instance. Ballads
in my breath. Sonnets whistling
sweetly in my lungs.
Samuel Ugbechie’s works have appeared in Sentinel UK, Elsewhere Lit, Nottingham Review, Jalada, Palette Poetry, and elsewhere. Some of his works have been recognized in awards like the Vice-Chancellor’s International Poetry Prize, Fish Poetry Prize, Frederick Holland Poetry Collection Award. He tweets @sugbechie.