Day After Day You March

for Mensah Atta Francis and my dear David Ishaya Osu

Enveloped by Old Masters

many of whom die

penniless—painted—hovering

in the imaginary songs

in the grace of birds. Sinful, she is

 

the one who brings all the fishing

in.  She weeps as a motherless

child.   The Old Masters painted

in the air, hovering. Sinful.  Child raise

up your arms to fight for the fucking

right to breath nourished. Even

 

though you know she fails at everything

she does, she drags her beat animal

body home by the direction of long

shadows. There is pain in the head. A wailing

in the heart can withstand any weather.

 

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