Photo Credit: Flickr
Rainy Ascension
It begins like a grumble—
a boy in the clouds learning to spit.
The sky sprawls over the wheat fields,
grey, & swollen,
heavy as a belly in its ripe month.
The goats, fat with waiting—
stand knee-deep in the drowned soil,
wool darkened, slick with birth water.
A kid slides out, slick as a mango seed.
Another follows, hooves first.
Then another, red-eyed, coughing rain.
The priest kneels in the flood,
hands trembling over the wet earth.
He calls to the sky,
to the god who listens best when the ground
is a mirror, when wheat is both grains, & ghost.
Three times he calls,
But,
the rain does not answer.
The goats groan, the sky cracks,
& the field becomes a river.
In the morning, the sun arrives late,
scooping its light from the horizon
like a man drinking from his cupped hands.
The field is empty—
except for the priest, knee-deep in silt,
watching his goats drift like offerings.
A god has eaten well.
Contributor’s Bio
Felix Eshiet is a Nigerian writer and Efik-Ibibio poet. His works appear or are forthcoming on Kalahari Review, African Writer Magazine, Afrocritik, Akpata, Fiery Scribe Review, Stripes, Ikike Arts, Ink in Thirds, The Crossroads, Fiction Niche and elsewhere. He’s the Editor-in-chief at Ekóndó Review, a journal for Efik-Ibibio arts and literature. You can reach out to him via email: iamfelixeshiet@gmail.com
