MIRACLE By Prosper C. Ìféányí


It saddens me to have watched
you grow into a memory. So staple

like the hair of water unstroked &
uncombed. Deeply-seated in this

poem, is a prayer I trade. One that
transfixes every mutable moment

lost in your calloused palm. I pray
you will see two doors & choose

that which returns back to me. This
already is the fourth month, & I still am

drinking dew from each stray twig
I come across. I used to pray for a

miracle to shred it’s light in me, but
even miracles require fragments of faith.

No matter how clean a bone I appear,
I cannot lie that I haven’t bleached

hope & belief from my skin. I hope in
God in such retrogressive state of

believing he let my troubles surpass
me. I believe in God with the conviction

of a child who believes his father will let
go when he takes his little first step.The

only thing I cradle upon is your voice. That
which leads me to the last piece of myself.

By Prosper C. Ìféányí


Prosper C. Ìféányí is a Nigerian writer. His works are featured or forthcoming in Black Warrior Review, New Delta Review, Identity Theory, The Shore, The Deadlands, Up the Staircase Quarterly, and elsewhere.

Leave a Reply