For Ogoniland

‘Water was the source of life;
it is now the cause of death’
— Anonymous

Heaven falls again. & the river cries black.
So much until it becomes a miracle, how a

woman can bleed & not bring out blood the
color of night. In my ache for catharsis, I

baptize in his mouth of filth. In the name of
the father. I am dunked. The oil clings to my

lungs

& the fishes struggle with me to breathe. Air
has picked a fight with my pharynx, & it will

win. My body, ending in a war betwixt. The
father, more oil than blood. So much until it

becomes a miracle— how a man can be match
lit, & not catch unto Him. In the name of the

son. The name is blackish scum. The name is
vility coating your skin. Second flesh for the

man in sin, lamina of grief. Somewhere,
between this brownish-black haze, you see

the corpses of the fishes you had swum
with— children. You see death, bobbing &

floating,

eyes wide & mouth open, imploring you to
flee. Truly, the river is father, like Saturn,

eating his son. In the name of the holy spirit,
the rot sanctified runs to earth & land. You

will know nothing about pureness anymore.
Kiss goodnight your beautiful & green.

Because everything will become the night.
& everything will feast on the taint.

Eucharist of death, sacrament of wilt. Listen
closely, even the wind hums an elegy;

he will fill our heart, today, with overflowing.
& the river overflows. Pouring forth blackness

upon blackness. Until the skin of the earth
cracks, & bleeds. Until it becomes a miracle,

how a seed can be planted into this
necropolis, & not sink into

its demise.

© 2026 Marvellous Mmesomachi Igwe