How many hours are there in death? How many cells bursting with death are there in one small body? What, apart from living, is this loop that has us all by the neck? Just what trust did the body breach before it turned against itself? Where in the body is the little rock of faith, and why does yours break every axe? The frayed cord, holding longest by its last string, what is its brand of hope? What is the song of your heart, the one that pours now from you? In what furnace did you burn, that belief is baked like bread within you? A malady, a love and a faith all walk into a body. One calls for blood, the other, wine. What does faith—stubborn faith-- order? The net drawn empty from the lake, what song can it not sing of loss? What tales does the white robe tell of its one red eye? When did the feud begin between the weeping eyes and light? Why do they cry, these laundered clothes hanging on the line? What species is this living pain, or better, what is the madness of grief? Tell me, Beloved, tell me: is this the final fantasy of our long lost and newly found love?
Timi Sanni writes from Lagos, Nigeria. He is the winner of the 2021 Anita McAndrews Award Poetry Contest. His work appears or is forthcoming in Black Warrior Review, New Delta Review, Poet Lore, Palette Poetry, Frontier Poetry, Fantasy Magazine and elsewhere. Find him on twitter @timisanni.