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your father | the magician | capable of being two places at once | you refer the night as a cave | that uses dark magic | to produce saddle light |

your spongy tongue | as political as begging the world to drown | you can’t speak the truth | in your blood a caste of lies is built as cells | can’t you see your body is too tipsy | to the lies you try to moisturize | did your father | the magician curse you | you should be silent like a bite |



Ugonna-Ora Owoh is a Nigerian poet and model. He is a recipient of a 2018 Young Romantics Keats-Shelley Prize and a 2019 Erbacce Prize. He is a winner of a 2019 Stephen A. DiBiase International Poetry Prize and a 2018 Fowey Festival short story prize. His recent poems are in Cōnfingō Magazine, The Malahat Review, Space and Time, B Cubed, Leading Edge, The Puritan, Vassar Review, and elsewhere.
Current Issue
26 Feb 2024

I can’t say any of this to the man next to me because he is wearing a tie
Language blasts through the malicious intentions and blows them to ash. Language rises triumphant over fangs and claws. Language, in other words, is presented as something more than a medium for communication. Language, regardless of how it is purposed, must be recognized as a weapon.
verb 4 [C] to constantly be at war, spill your blood and drink. to faint and revive yourself. to brag of your scars.
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