after Nkosi Nkululeko
F E B R U A R Y
7- I grieve for my teenage self
who leaned on an elder’s son.
On Sabbath, supple knuckles brush
in anticipation for prayer;
hands clasped with his fingers.
Saturdays, are for God and coincidence.
9- An Adventist church makes itself a coincidence
A place to discard a teenage crush and die to self.
But two mistakes intertwine their fingers
and bow to reflect on God sacrificing his son.
In confidence, I utilize my prayer
to ask for his lips to brush.
14-The Holy spirit’s flame lights the brush.
They call a lover’s tragedy God’s coincidence.
You forgot to be specific in prayer.
Your darling’s lips contradict the self.
The elder’s son
Averts his eyes, releases his fingers.
15- Fleeting through halls with barren fingers.
Cold shoulders meet but he retires his brush.
Holy spirit, father and the son
dismisses our history by coincidence.
A soothing Psalm, distracts the self—
release him through prayer
18- At daybreak I clammer for my cell, my prayer
to hear his voice through fingers.
But vibrations from confidants betrays the self.
Tears swell, and against my cheek they brush.
I crave his morning coincidence
disillusioned by the elder’s son.
27- Unequally yoked to a believer’s son.
We drift to separate sides of the altar in prayer.
Butterflies fade, as if by coincidence.
A grin, caused by someone else’s fingers
our hallway filled, but with another scheduled brush.
Travel down a different path to protect my future self
28- An elder’s son, his God, and my past self,
fell for a merciful coincidence. His fingers
an enticing prayer that ignited my brush.