who we are when we are not afraid
March 18, 2024 | By Mandy Osuji PC ‘26
image description: a cattail stands tall amongst other wildflowers
1.
some day in February
in fourth grade art class
the PA announcement hurls us tornado-warning to the floor
skittering beneath our handiwork
clustered and faintly afraid
I end up on my knees so I pray anyway
lips barely parting
12 minutes later we emerge intact
go back to our imitations
my knees dimpled but the same
unfettered I forget the muttered prayer
the moment of a bent thing caught
I resume coloring-in my scribbled bird or dog or cat
the quiet receded
2.
my eyes cut night seismic and fleeting
I buck, shedding the thrill
but I can smell the smoke on me
the way it coils in on itself
I’ve scared myself raw,
fingers wind-chapped in the waiting
the fear whittles me ashamed
its taut glare unstrung
I gauge the dimensions of forgiveness
wonder if regret can’t help but spit back
if tamped-down secrets have nowhere to go but the water
curled up cocooned in the belly of dark
lingering there
3.
today it is spring—or rather, it should be
blooms unearth themselves bony and breathless
as if they know they are fleeting
excavation turned symphony
everything is budding in the mud
a cacophony of brown and yet-to-be
of shoots and watered soil
I bury my hands in the dirt
grab the center of the earth
apple core wilted and torn
still life fluttering awake
just the long grass at my knees
and the smell of smoke fading
4.
this continuous introduction
soul tilting cattail towards you
towards palms tumbled clean
bark-stripped and sea foam new
long strides and memory crumble into salt
night silts into daybreak
as ransom unsticks from the roof of my mouth
knees twine river and the water stands still
easing me into surrender