Written by: Pamilerin Jacob

I fail miserably
at my most beloved habit. Suddenly,

a stone is a stone. A cloud is a cloud. &
the water in my cup possesses

no ancient history. Not a symbol. Not
a metaphor. The mornings are stripped clean

of magic: birds, no longer messengers; nor
yawns, pathways to dreams. I suppose

they call this
a writer’s block. I hate it,

this absence of vision. I know there is a poem
in my bowl of rice, lodged

between grains. Miracle so plain
it is invisible. This morning, slicing onions

in the kitchen, a clichรฉ caressed my knuckles
until they bled. & all day, I have studied

the red orifice with attentive eyes.
Haven’t you heard, miracles

Like angels, live only in the blip
of darkness, the eyelids provide;

ensconced neatly
in the flutteringโ€”escaping us?

Pamilerin Jacob is a Nigerian poet whose poems have appeared in Barren Magazine, Agbowรณ, Poetry Potion, Rattle & elsewhere. He was the second runner-up for Sevhage Poetry Prize 2019. Author of Memoir of Crushed Petals & two chapbooks; he is a staunch believer in the powers of critical thinking, Khalil Gibran’s poetry & chocolate ice-cream.

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