“even if my spine”

by Tiwaladeoluwa Adekunle

never recovers,
and my body only learns new ways to recoil
from me,

even if the gaps never inch closed,
and only widen with each passing
breath,

there will still, at least be a bird
smaller than my fist, but sailing,
soaring on the belly of life

there will still be winter pristine, summer
soft, golden leaves of autumn floating down, and
dancing at arm’s reach

there will still be the sun singing with
quiet brilliance, the wind brushing skin, stars
studding the night’s sleeve

there will still be God
(there has always been God)
everywhere, even here,
in my body, the frailest
of temples

***

Tiwaladeoluwa Adekunle is double majoring in International studies and English at University of Kentucky. She is most distracted and most inspired by homesickness, her heartbeat and the ticking of the clock. She was born in southwest Nigeria.