"Highland Floras" by Vian Borchert
Prosper Ìféányí | Soja Boys
After the hoisting of the flag. Drumrolls.
All but the head of a lizard is still. Reddened
like heated clay under the sun dance. Bodies
recoil into cellular compartments of shooting
and singing. I, alongside boys docked from tail to
waist, chanted with all fierceness a course we didn't
grok. We might have spoken of grief as though
it were a song accompanied with a tune. At night,
the moon lit the thinning of our hair, that it must
have poked out like white threads. We watched
our masters strike down unyielding flesh who
refused to heed the pact call of the convener.
Moments in the sea were dreadful. Our masters
would pluck us one by one from our posts and toss
us into the belly of the tempestuous sea, boys who
wanted to be soldiers were bait to calm the hunger
of sea. We trod the water, body brimmed with
innocence, for submerging was an act of guilt.
Our mothers must have thought us heroes when
we didn't even see the battlefront. Our eyes, dull
like glass, were funneling the red rim of the sun
creeping out of the horizon. This was the shred
of proof we needed to wade out the storm. Until
the wooden handle of a knife grew out of our body.
All but the head of a lizard is still. Reddened
like heated clay under the sun dance. Bodies
recoil into cellular compartments of shooting
and singing. I, alongside boys docked from tail to
waist, chanted with all fierceness a course we didn't
grok. We might have spoken of grief as though
it were a song accompanied with a tune. At night,
the moon lit the thinning of our hair, that it must
have poked out like white threads. We watched
our masters strike down unyielding flesh who
refused to heed the pact call of the convener.
Moments in the sea were dreadful. Our masters
would pluck us one by one from our posts and toss
us into the belly of the tempestuous sea, boys who
wanted to be soldiers were bait to calm the hunger
of sea. We trod the water, body brimmed with
innocence, for submerging was an act of guilt.
Our mothers must have thought us heroes when
we didn't even see the battlefront. Our eyes, dull
like glass, were funneling the red rim of the sun
creeping out of the horizon. This was the shred
of proof we needed to wade out the storm. Until
the wooden handle of a knife grew out of our body.
Prosper Ìféányí is a Nigerian poet. His works are featured or forthcoming in Caret: McGill University Graduate English Journal, Black Warrior Review, Parentheses Journal, Identity Theory, Feral Poetry, Brittle Paper and elsewhere. Reach him on Twitter and Instagram @prosperifeanyii
Vian Borchert is an established artist and poet exhibiting in the US & internationally. Vian is a Notable Alumni from Corcoran GW University. Borchert exhibits in museums and key galleries in major cities like NYC, DC, LA, London. Borchert's art is in embassies and collections worldwide, along with vast coverage in publications. Borchert is an art educator in the Washington DC area. Borchert's artwork can be acquired via "1stDibs" and "Artsy" marketplaces with auctions. Website: www.vianborchert.com
