afterlife of flood
fermented
unearthing reveal-
ing a reckoned we
orderly unneat sheathed
catastrophe
long-ago fenced-in saccharine
catastrophe—
our home’s miasmatic air
ruptured bellyswell
relic and harvest
of augmented hurt
air as putrid corruption or
transatlantic theft or
antiblack.
this pre-bedrock this
national sustenance and
i want my skin to remember
how it feels to drink clean air
the poem as defunct weather map
flood as post-sacred disaster
post-god tribulation leaving only
some kicked-up dust-rust
swept-up plugged-up
air-tight air-blight air, air
my breath is the contradiction a present absence gone viral
and why should i have to tell you
why i deserve to breathe?
this flood as recollection of ourselves
as there is nothing left for you here
and either improvise or pretend
and there’s no one to call in times like these
these are all of the times.
Ima Odong is studying social justice and interdisciplinary writing in Los Angeles. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Rookie Mag and Arts & Letters. She is committed to learning how to love and be loved in preparation for a future free of state violence. You can find her on Instagram: @scantima_.
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