3am worship in the bathroom.

Emmanuel Mgbabor

instead, she begins in the name of a lunar god, & i watch 
the elegies make                              a forest out of her lungs. 
                         sweet penance. her eyes

torched with drowning phoenixes through the night's
broken teeth.                                   how she supplicates in igbo 
                         & curses in english, forgetting 

that the child on her lap is a [full moon] [church bell]. 
i ask: nne m, is                                 your body fireproof? 
                         nne m, there are grenades 

in your eyes. the fishbone tackling your teeth is your daughter 
growing in your mouth.                how many countries 
                         will you eat before daybreak? 

she scraps another igbo song from the bathroom tiles. her lips—
elastic hyphen.                               purple joy & antidepressants. 
                         how she keeps the song from

vanishing, with all those birds in her throat. i want to touch 
her silk lips, & say:                         mother, o zuola. no more tears. 
                         let me digress: she begins 

in the name of a lunar god— the elegies foresting her lungs. 
a word banished                           from an electronic prayer—
                         withering.