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Grey Sparrow Journal

Issue 30, July 31, 2017
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UNHOLY DAYS




There were these unholy hallelujahs

that shook our cathedral.

It was the night sanctuary

walking to reach our heavy soul.

Fate dimmed with black days--

we stitched on black, piled in warm embrace

cast in winter time,

the fallen candlelight stand, lying beside

the stoup to empty the holy waters.

A whole city, grew cold, like the pale skin

of ghetto kids in the harmattan, a place  

that was lost in crystal.


I've read some poems of Kafka,

so delude--

I am like a watery stool

passing the world.

                 
  -Ogana D. Okpah