Poets' Corner
Selfish Dirt
Tongue in mouth.
I don't have one.
He speaks across the skies
So, the stars hear him;
He bites his nose
With his fingers.
I lick mine clean
Of selfish dirt.
Across the table;
I see
The siesma
Of my pulsating heart.
Abiding in centuries of anguish;
I twist the roof of my mouth,
The confluence of two worlds.
I conjugate the boundaries
And swallow my pride.
I have no ears.
Out your finger,
Scratch your toes.
Then the earth
On which you trod.
From their burrows
Come these worms;
In whose homes
We bury.
This shell;
This bag;
This sagging wrinkled sack
That houses us.
Akeh-Ugah Ufumaka
