A note for the Spiders in my Tongue & Other Poems – Chinedu Gospel

A note for the Spiders in my Tongue

webs plotting graphs in my taste bud —

the last time god fell into my mouth,

i was still learning the syllables in ha-lle-lu-jah.

the last time i meant love, mother used to

serve me kisses as breakfast. webs plotting

graphs in my taste bud — my tongue

is a room abandoned by love. there are

spiders in every corner. every corner is a memory.

every memory is a mandible piercing the vein.

hold the mandibles to your vein, 

& if i say testify, tell me, how red is the pain? 

i return to god today. a note in my hand.

& i will write:  in this poem, i will scripture 

my life into an ellipsis, elohim, toss me through 

every phase — not too approximate, that i won’t 

become another funeral. not too distant, that, 

i won’t be become history.  

i will exhale & watch a dirge discolour 

into a psalm. i will tidy up my tongue & leave 

scars in god’s ears. i will decorate my mouth 

with a plate of fireflies, turn back to the eclipse 

of my life — the very genesis. & i will say 

let there be light 

webs plotting graphs in my taste bud —

i will turn an elegy to a birdsong. i will turn a spider

into a butterfly.

He(‘s)tory

in this poem, the boy is black & white — 

a monochrome too blur light doesn’t

permeate his body. you’ll bring a candlelight 

into this poem in search of him, 

but, the fire will haunt you into a dilemma. 

where you’re stuck between darkness & 

ashes. & there’s no point manufacturing 

bleak metaphors. i am too young for language.

i bath with lime water. lay bare to ruin &

watch every preadators’ tongue pummeling

my body recede as a blue song. i am still learning 

the geometry of my body. how i can be a hypotenuse 

leaning on the wall of grace. standing on a solid rock. 

forgive me, if i taste of religion; i never meant to 

toss myself into a shallow grave. i rise into an 

assembly of clouds — a rain, the size of a sea. 

i sink like a stone — a body that cannot absorb 

healing. that cannot stay afloat. my innards 

yearning for light as caves do.  this poem is the history 

of a boy — come. come darling & change these 

metaphors

 

Illustration :  Suman Mukherjee

*****