by Nome Emeka Patrick
At the end of the road, a withered flower—a teeth of shrubs
at both ends. In the last dream, I had no idea what the warthog
walking around the leafless tree meant. I broke my heart twice
& yet can’t seem to remember how.
fffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffHealing, I carved a hole
on the wall: imagine at night, angels standing there to listen to the secrets
of my breaking: I have been sleeping for so long, I wake up in wonder.
Nome Emeka Patrick is a blxck bxy. His works have been published or forthcoming in POETRY, AGNI, TriQuarterly, Poet Lore, Black Warrior Review and elsewhere. A Best of the Net, Best New Poets, and Pushcart prize nominee, his manuscript We Need New Moses. Or New Luther King was a finalist for the 2019 Sillerman First Book Prize for African Poets. He writes from Lagos, Nigeria. Say hi on Twitter: @nome__patrick. This poem is after Kaveh Akbar