My Country; an Abattoir Mgbabor Emmanuel Chuckwudalu
Forgive my overuse of faulty paradoxes, I learnt to garden grief the way a mother cuddles her newborn. Where I’m from, the word home could mean
an exit door. Could mean, if well tilted, a switchblade. We grew in homes where the streets are metal teeth under our feet— dead brothers for
scarecrows. If you stare at a boy too close, you will almost see the horses grazing in his wound. Again, the brick fist of a bullet perforates my ribs.
Warm. Volatile. Like breathing waves. But you see, I’m already used to this— the shattering of metal voices. & how we carry musical legs like crucifixes. Officer,
these are country flags, not ak-47s. But I see the inferno in the cliff of your eyes, to reduce my bones to ash. I am standing on heaven’s precipice & these aren’t hands but
sharpened prophecies. The war is brewing in my palm & it scares me. My body, a purple embryo— anthills sprouting out of my green wounds. In my country, the word
boy could mean skydiving as a wingless bird, begging the earth to tender your bones like an electric child— unscathed.
Mgbabor Emmanuel Chukwudalu is a Nigerian poet,q and a member of the Frontiers Collective. He came 1st Runner-up in the POETICALLY-WRITTEN PROSE (2021) organized by PIN Initiative, and as well a winner of the MY SHUZIA POETRY COMPETITION (2021). His works have been published and forthcoming in various magazines and journals, including The Shallow Tales Review, Augment Review, My shuzia magazine, Poetrycolumnn, Icefloe Press, Evokelit, Wrongdoing Magazine, Indigo Lit, Olumo Review, Queerlings, Wine Cellar Press mag, The African Writers review, amongst others. He tweets @literati22.