Michael Emmanuel

the first lesson—names

            every day i lose my name a little: a skewed vowel,
            a syllable stretched into a question by our neighbor, 

as if to say, this one will survive, and i try to keep
the spirit in my name alive, feed it a serving of wine

for its missing features, smile when it suffers the
accident of accent in my landlord’s mouth. our monthly

compound meeting commences with [extended] sighs. 

            we are crowdfunding for the woman who opened her
            lover’s body to darkness. 

there is a cliche in how we practice condolences, how we
tender our palms in unison. e ma fara sile, a wa pelu yin. 

            but no one offers to tend her grief while she sleeps,
            or lingers at the doorway to welcome his silhouette,
            or sniffs his encore jacket to retain his scent. 

that night, i watch the woman furl beneath
the sheets, a relative perched by her side, supplicating 

            and in the relative’s muttering i recall my mother, who
            the first time i whined about the error in my name, 

pulled me at both ears and sentenced me to squats
for assuming the world assembled at my feet.

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Michael Emmanuel is a creative writer from Lagos. He was a semifinalist for the 2021 Jack Grapes Poetry Contest, a honorable mention for the 2022 Stephen A DiBiase Poetry Contest and was on the longlist for the 2021 Ake Creative Trust Award. His works have appeared in Ake Review, Jalada Mag, Twelve Mile Review, perhappened mag and other places. He is on Twitter @mikey_emmanuel