Heavier, heavier

I should speak of the peacock—he

would want me to. It had a marvelous

traipsing tail like an Arabian

rug. From

where we spoke,

it was so dark we could

only think bright things

                                    It was dark

the way inside of the body

is dark, a dark

                                without an eye

At least, the white stone fact

of the walls we knew well,

the way they curved the mango trees

toward compounds we thought of

as our family’s once upon

a time dwelling

And what about when you talk:scoff

of:at Abuja? And about

the fable,

                                 being kidnapped

                                 by my father

There are other things

                                              but in this

scene,

I say the peacock himself propels

along the wall, under

the heavy petting

of scythe leaves.

He doesn’t so much walk

as molecularly snap into place,

each claw finding

an oblong and syncopated

drop onto the limed edge. I know,

but don’t remember

the tenderness beneath

the feathers’ slick shield.

The luminous green, bluer,

nightshine. I won’t say anything.

I will keep my mouth shut.