For Adebiyi Olusolape
Last night
the moon was a bow.
I thought if only
I could place my arrow in it
I could kill all that lurked in the dark.
I thought if only
I could push it off
from the shore
to float seaward,
I could paddle it against the torrent,
towards impossible places.
Today, it has grown full —
round and pristine
like my dinner plate.
If I slot it into my CD player
would it ooze jazz?
If I pluck it
from a black branch
and prick it,
would it frizzle
like a punctured balloon?
If I stand before it long enough
would it mirror secrets
about my future?
I will incubate it
till a new world hatches out of it
in which there will be no need
to exorcise the spirit of savagery.
I will spend it in a market
for my name
to be etched on the night sky
and stand out among the stars.