Aishat Yahkub
This Brief, Bright Body where it All Belongs
encased in primal death, we were hatched & then/ we lived
set loose on the young, wide-eyed earth
we stole from the land, snatched
like a helpless parasite, its patterns & lines & colours
adorned ourselves with its marks & scars
fashioned a body, moist female, molded it ours, flesh home
made whole by our numerous aches
No doubt, we carved an eye first, the original wound, insatiable
taking & taking & taking, devouring whole
all/ into the soft pudginess of stretched clay
Oh, such betrayal, such breach of body
then we cut up a mouth, the first orifice and
We bled on its wild deciduous teeth
its coy, wet, boneless, muscled pink tongue licked clean our new blood
whose almost regular pulsing tethers us to the earth’s slow, gentle rocking
We became afflicted, like everything alive, with a desire for beauty
And oh, what delight, we could participate
in the continuous dance of the earth’s living
but as the accompanying song climbs to a crescendo, dies swift
We are thrust into unforgiving hands
to be refined & we come to learn, too well
what it feels like to yearn/ for simple things & kindnesses
the earth has always been callous & does not owe us, this we know, but
Were we so undeserving of soft, yielding grace
tender, soothing touch of mercy
in our pathetic, chafing little rag flesh suit, begging to be loved?
This creaky, aged, cold, worn out body
that has so very loudly, vividly, felt it all
Leave us be, let us rot, alone darling
You’re much too clean, too shiny, too sweet
to oversee this premature decay, don’t hold on to our hand
When we are gone, do not mourn into the wind
too long, for we were only ever fleeting
Lay us to rest where it’s soft &
infused with autumn’s liminal warmth
near the old, ever swaying trees, perhaps we can join
in awaiting the rain so that we may remain healed
do not make it silent, our final place
We want to hear the busy, restless earth, bustling
right up to the border, keeping out the other side.
Bio:
AISHAT YAHKUB is a creative, poet, art enthusiast and overwhelmed medical student from ìlọrin, Nigeria. A “Best Of The Net” nominee, her poem “Morning Rituals and How to Contain Chaos” was a finalist for the 2024 Akachi Chukwuemeka Prize for literature. Others are published/forthcoming in Brittle Paper, Agbowó, Fullhouse lit, Fantasy Magazine, PoetryColumnNND, Poetry Sango–Ota, and elsewhere. Her works seek to explore all that haunts the body and of belonging. She’s a whimsy daydreamer, stubborn escapist & practices stillness. Tweets @AishatYahkub.
