Eli, Eli Lama Sabacthani – Osy Mizpah Unuevoh
Tonight, there’s no feedback to tell if I’m in the nude of prayer— in the milk-fever of worship where the control of any vision is; where the sign of the poison was cut to flesh— an open fruit to pour in the cancer. My father asked me to love the wound in his heart— asked me to die for it. Our bodies become unhealthy when tender; when in search of beauty, the sun with healing in his wings. I turned to my father’s chest, saw the earth hang by the nipples. I placed my mouth on the frame, sucked in the signatures of the dark until the stray-bone entered & turned my voice into an ugly curtain. Now, a new thing emerges in my eyes— a broken censer to be briefly discarded away.