Migration Abecedarian

A mother’s prayer scents the road and charts the course.
Before the journey, impatience grows between my bones. We gather,

Calling the names of God. Olodumare, my mother says, and a
Door opens. I will enter a country where my ancestors dreamed to

Enter. I have girded my loins with a dream and the seeds
Follow behind me. I am devoted to the many rivers that

Gave room for my freedom. Here is how the story begins:
Hope. The mother hen shields her chicklings from the hawk’s claws.

In the retelling, the story loses steam from mouth to mouth.
Just as the sun peeks from its high estate in search of water, I

Know how to caress my fears. I paint them with ash and
Let them dissolve with the wind. I dig into my skin and find

My father’s ghost. The Blackness of it as it touches a new country with me.
Never look an American in the eye, an elder warns. At the airport, I

Overhear a discussion about the coming election. At the
Presence of hope, there is the knife that lies bare beside you,

Questioning your resolve. I open my mouth and a
Requiem rises beneath my tongue. I look around and see a tomb

Stretch across the room. Everyone belongs somewhere.
Tell this another way: I am lost in translation. Like the

Unburnt bush that spoke to the prophet, I speak of the
Vicissitude of identity. I hide behind the armor of my accent.

Words so heavy, each syllable breaks midair as it departs my mouth. An
X-ray of winged clangs. A history of blood that would soon outlive the

Yearnings of dreamscapes. Coming from a house built with love, this
Zoo, my new home, looks me in the eye and lays me with wolves.