Last night, I dreamt I had fallen into the moon
where shadows offered consolation for a wound
that wasn't theirs. They grieved in a language
that couldn't be translated.
Tonight, I dream the sky is transparent. I hide under my skin
& pin my tongue to the hem of night.
Watch how I build like worship at the hands of dawn
with a distance that tastes like nowhere.
My body is stretched into another currency.
I can't afford to mourn the passing of the sun;
I am trained to find my way in the dark.
Every poem is a dream. I shred my skin into stars,
wing myself to the edge of space,
grow fond of locking face with the moon.
I burn with the night; how many nights to burn with the night?
I keep space for the sky in my belly and request to invent
light. It is false vulnerability to align with something that
has no translation in your language.
I discover every night is a colonized history,
another diluted way to lose one’s skin.
where shadows offered consolation for a wound
that wasn't theirs. They grieved in a language
that couldn't be translated.
Tonight, I dream the sky is transparent. I hide under my skin
& pin my tongue to the hem of night.
Watch how I build like worship at the hands of dawn
with a distance that tastes like nowhere.
My body is stretched into another currency.
I can't afford to mourn the passing of the sun;
I am trained to find my way in the dark.
Every poem is a dream. I shred my skin into stars,
wing myself to the edge of space,
grow fond of locking face with the moon.
I burn with the night; how many nights to burn with the night?
I keep space for the sky in my belly and request to invent
light. It is false vulnerability to align with something that
has no translation in your language.
I discover every night is a colonized history,
another diluted way to lose one’s skin.
Oluwafisayo Akinfolami is a penultimate student of history and international studies. Her poems have appeared on Poetry Potion, Writer Space Africa, Praxis Mag Online, Undivided Magazine and elsewhere.