24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Nandiya Nyx has ridden the elevator with Harry Belafonte and slept in the bed of a famous 1970s rock and roll icon (he wasn’t home at the time). She is a writer, photographer, and American Sign Language Interpreter. This is her third Marathon.
tongue tinged with sarcasm
loathe to remove her mask
(no, not talking about the pandemic)
sick
and so tired
of people saying
That’s the way the world is, honey.
Integrity
a hollow promise
for tomorrow
always tomorrow
Today
a steady panic
of almost-enough
too late
and Sorry about that.
Sounds normal to me.
Feel the ground as it holds you
firm, supporting
It does not ask you to prove
worthiness
or, god forbid, perfection
Recognize this
receive this.
When the time is right
lift one foot
do you notice the other leg
picking up the slack?
You need not ask permission
it is its very nature to do this
Feel the bend in your knee
Know the shifting pressure on the grounded hip
Okay
now reach out with that raised foot
place it on the waiting earth
Look at that!
Have you ever truly done this before?
Linger here a moment
Then, when you’re ready
switch sides
Repeat
This world class cooperation
This symbiosis of body
and environment
With each foot fall
the ground rises to meet me –
Blessed be!
The tub was in the sitting room
water cool enough to refresh
warm enough to soothe.
The room was inconspicuous;
its adornments cursory,
its feel antiseptic.
Whitewashed in the comfort of your own home.
I have used both image and last line.
Last line is from Awaeke Emezi’s The Death of Vivek Oji. I have broken her last sentence into final 3 lines of poem.
Misty heights
scrub trees
rugged
snatching breath
from thin air
clamoring
to survive
even here
even now
life
stubborn greedy
somewhere, you see,
in the river of time
I am already alive.
Thick with disquiet
sonorous sleeplessness its
nighttime with the dog.
you never see it coming, ya know?
even when you kinda expect it
there’s a way
it sneaks up
jumps you
eyes
all around
alert expectation
yes, people out here
are trying to kill you
ha! empty effort –
no amount of preparation
can avert
the sudden assault
the body will crumble
you will not remember
the impact
the split seconds
of flying
through the air
the second crash
the slam
and slide
flesh a poor rival
to concrete
small bits of stone
and glass
imbedding
into what
you knew
as you
your body
the moving
breathing
self
of you
now a mass
of damage
after that
you remember
the body
remembers
and what of it?
there is no
before
it is just now
always now
beginning again
and then
again/starting line
obliterated
heading hazy
and
each step
a promise.