Moonwalk on A Night Sky, by Nwuguru Chidiebere Sullivan

You like me when I smell like the moon, glazed
with gunpowder & November dust. Look at  

the galaxies—a canopy of angels. Here’s 
a night sky: a dimmed mirror blue-fleshed into  

a shack of stars. The auditioning of the blue-eyed 
trinket peeling itself into wonders have begun. We’ll  

wait to carry it on our arms. Do you wish to  
contend an altitude with the sky? Scrub your toes  

well enough, there’s going to be a walk for us 
on the moon. This is about your fluorescent body

where fireflies gallop into shooting stars from a night sky.
This is about a portal of glittering louvres washing into us

from an effervescent cloud. Binye, like the moist silence 
of a ghost, we’re capable of jumping into a 

moving cloud, I swear we’ll not drown in a pageant of
skeletons—we can just be another moon with 

ripe footprints that are worthy of lunar eclipse—where
a honeycomb of miracles shades us from the ruins of the earth.

Nwuguru Chidiebere Sullivan (he/him) is a keen writer of Izzi, Abakaliki ancestry; a Medical Laboratory Science student whose works have been nominated for both Forward Prize and Best of The Net Award. He was the winner of 2021, WAN–Cookout Journal Poetry Prize. He has works at IS&T, The Shore Poetry, B’K Mag, The Fourth River, and elsewhere. He is fond of his poorly lit room from where he tweets @wordpottersull1.

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