MY FATHER THE EUCHARIST

FISAYO ADEYEYE

The night named me voodoo.                      Father,
burden.   Bonfire said                         son. Burning,
I blossomed    black.               I pushed my tongue
into a tulip.   (It bloomed)        Every petal folding
like lips.                 A fertile soil                   where
everything grows.                 Each pill a soft moon
in my mouth.      Each seed                       a bullet.
I plowed fields wide enough             to put horses
down.         I swallowed orchards,            avenues.
I attracted metal. Recoiled                    like a gun.
A moment crescendoed      and I learned its song.
I became hymn                while hymn became me.

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