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Storm at sea - Oka Osahon

We flew so fast, the wind became

a scream, the prow of clouds dipped

into sunlight & the trough of birds

surfed away, black white specks

on the keel of our bodies, where

eyes meet all the gods.


The moon was there, on the edge,

waiting, any lover would, the

returning of tide from shore to wash

the face of broken shapes—crags,

fissures, graveyards of anchors

plaited with seaweed & corals—with

beach sand & motes of silvery dust.


We flew towards horizon—a line

drawn on a map of sky & sea—

& seagulls muttered curses on

the wake of flotsam we left behind.

We arrived, a jangled tune pealing

from the radio, captain repeating

storm warnings, sighting a hand

rising from a god's mouth, thunder

caught within her trembling fists.


The wind's scream tore through rain

divining drops with waning sight

portholes crowded with curious

terror as anchor rose to hold the sky,

swing us from a god's grip & sorrow

gay & arbitrary swept us into the

denuded deep, cleansed, waiting

our final repose.


BIO

Osahon Oka is a Bini/Kwale poet. He believes writing is a means of therapy. His writing has appeared on spaces like Malarkey Books, Praxis Magazine, Perhappened, Grotesque, The Friday Influence, Feral Journal, etc. He lives in and writes from Benin city, Nigeria.

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