Winter at Blue City and The Ant
Two poems by Fatihah Quadri Eniola
Today’s post features two poems by Fatihah Quadri Eniola, a young poet from Nigeria. Fatihah is a member of HCAF (Hilltop Creative Arts Foundation) and Nibstears Poetry Cave. She has contributed a number of intricately constructed poems to literary journals including Art Lounge, The Kalahari Review, Beatnik Cowboy, Notion Press, World Voices Magazine, De Curated, Synchronized Chaos and elsewhere. She lives with a very cute cat, Honiy.
Winter At Blue City.
After autumn, papa and I moved to the blue city/ sparrows were gorgeous
with their front teeth & the sky's window panes were bright and beautiful
with the stars pressing their bodies against the wall. I remember ripping
a snail out of its shell & because god was watching in a blue cottage/ I / a
brunette/ mooched into Venus to crunch rain water. That night/ the insects of
darkness crawled into the dining room & I stopped eating Bigoli. I travelled
thirty-three miles into my blue gown for a night show. At the cinema/ cute
planet Earth was the popcorn man I loved at first sight/ we sipped red wine
from ocean/ from sea/ from little blue lakes as he threw me the blue stone
containing a hundred grains of smile. We kissed till my lips softened into a
red onion but papa broke in & fear/ the city cop/ sharpened a bind of sixteen
pencils & poke it into our hearts, we died & woke the next summer.
The Ant.
Death is the brown-thorax ant that bolted
down the loaves you left on the high table last night.
It traced your footsteps to the cinema, shared your popcorns
with you, & sat on the left side beneath the halogen lamps. I saw it.
This happened.
I am watching it now, licking your window panes
with bloody lips, calling it its own. Spying on the screaming
night, calling it its own. It draws your poor curtain, it wants to say hello.