perhappened mag
issue 4: MIXTAPE
under a sky full of stars
CHIEDOZIE KELECHI DANJUMA
after Need You—Emanuel
I feel like I just fell in love with you
like a song on the radio.
like a song on the radio.
There is no clue to knowing
when we lose our balance;
trip, fall, our chins to the ground,
mud on our faces.
Such foreknowledge is preserved
for the divine. Its eyes of light.
It happens within a flash:
a serpent launches at its prey,
sweet venom hisses the heart
& a target is rendered suppliant.
The exact moment paradise
knived itself in half & put you in my arms,
I cannot remember. It may have been a text,
a scroll on the timeline & eternity began to mate itself.
Or a wink in the school hallway,
opening a window, small like grace,
a lovely animal slithering
into my garden. Burrowing flesh & spine.
No one truly knows the origin of water,
but we make boats and paddle in trust.
No one knows the true story of soil,
but we walk with the certainty of walking.
Origin stories rust in earth's black box,
withers in the far fields of time.
I feel like I need you to breathe
sings Emanuel on the old, black stereo.
Young palm fronds tongue the wind,
swallows migrating overhead.
Flap of wings, of hair.
If you are curled like an ampersand
by my side; breath by breath, desire
by desire, on the swing in papa's garden,
our bodies a feverish rhythm,
I do not care how we began.
when we lose our balance;
trip, fall, our chins to the ground,
mud on our faces.
Such foreknowledge is preserved
for the divine. Its eyes of light.
It happens within a flash:
a serpent launches at its prey,
sweet venom hisses the heart
& a target is rendered suppliant.
The exact moment paradise
knived itself in half & put you in my arms,
I cannot remember. It may have been a text,
a scroll on the timeline & eternity began to mate itself.
Or a wink in the school hallway,
opening a window, small like grace,
a lovely animal slithering
into my garden. Burrowing flesh & spine.
No one truly knows the origin of water,
but we make boats and paddle in trust.
No one knows the true story of soil,
but we walk with the certainty of walking.
Origin stories rust in earth's black box,
withers in the far fields of time.
I feel like I need you to breathe
sings Emanuel on the old, black stereo.
Young palm fronds tongue the wind,
swallows migrating overhead.
Flap of wings, of hair.
If you are curled like an ampersand
by my side; breath by breath, desire
by desire, on the swing in papa's garden,
our bodies a feverish rhythm,
I do not care how we began.
Chiedozie Kelechi Danjuma is a Nigerian writer, essayist and lawyer. His poems and essays have appeared on The Guardian, Disquiet Arts, Rising Phoenix, Neologism Poetry, Clay Literary, Praxis Magazine and elsewhere.