Nnadi Samuel: “Pixelated Bodies”
Editors’ Note: An earlier version of this poem was published first by SUSPECT. You may view it here.
"May God have a photograph of this." —Ilya Kaminsky
I was first taught the art of blurring
seated on the imprints of a vanishing spray,
the tide gone, wiping off a history of leaves.
caution aside, something is left behind to ruin what it must—
the way the west seeks to vanish us.
the evidence is soft & breathing.
imagine you are the last thing
to draw breath in a lodge once peopled with laughter.
you lay toiling the soil of your breast for a heartbeat.
imagine yourself the stain on a family album that goes unnoticed.
your facial print blurring under intense light.
I have raised toddlers who cannot point me out in hard copy
except for the bruise suffering my knees.
each year, a coyote bleeds half-dead on our wet sand,
terror abandoned in its trail.
the sea keeps washing ashore.
I thank the posture of you as you are, witness to all this mayhem.
I’ve lost count of the times a house fell into me unpronounced:
the debris of cement memorialized as a headstone.
you say bismillah in quick succession,
& you’re only reciting the kinder ways
to give the incident a name twice its size.
I shudder at the thought of living
as fickle as any last prayer my lungs can hold,
bare as my pronoun
dropped face-first on the pavement.
do you stand as witness?
the darkness everywhere now started
from a blind spot, then a faint light,
then this blackout swallowing us whole.
Nnadi Samuel (he/him/his) holds a B.A. in English & Literature from the University of Benin. He is the author of Nature Knows a Little About Slave Trade, selected by Tate N. Oquendo (Sundress Publications 2023). His works have been previously published or are forthcoming in Singapore Unbound Magazine & elsewhere. He has previously lived in Singapore, where he had his early studies. He tweets @samuelsamba10.
