A Pacific Patience
︎︎︎ Uche Nduka
︎ April 27, 2021
This wind is a language
we share. Where did you
slip last night. Litany for
a mountain that is beginning
to read us. The quicksand
grows wings and will head
for the skies soon. They
are not laurels but falcons:
those forevers. The first
sentence learnt what love
was, what love is. A pacific
patience is not a virtue
in this sequel to darkness.
But the idea is clear:
the skies are full
of tumbleweeds.
we share. Where did you
slip last night. Litany for
a mountain that is beginning
to read us. The quicksand
grows wings and will head
for the skies soon. They
are not laurels but falcons:
those forevers. The first
sentence learnt what love
was, what love is. A pacific
patience is not a virtue
in this sequel to darkness.
But the idea is clear:
the skies are full
of tumbleweeds.
Uche Nduka—poet and essayist—is the author of twelve volumes of poems of which the most recent are LIVING IN PUBLIC (2018) and FACING YOU (2020). His writing has been translated into German, Italian, Finnish, Arabic, Romanian, and Dutch. He presently teaches at CUNY and lives in New York City.
Also by Uche: To Clocks