at the immigration office by Cianga
– field of headless bodies.
the executioner hates his job
finds it cyclical, boring even
the force of his hand, swung down
marking the exit of life
he wipes his hands and listens
it’s his version of grace
the damned plead their case
i was born here
fees went up 200%
what more can i give
he is almost moved
denied almost melts away
i am almost a dog
“you’re free to return home”
he is a grim reaper now
explaining to lost souls
the events of their own passing
where to? where to?
the procession of bodies are frantic
they must search for their heads
heads they will never find
what can they offer the executioner?
once the head is gone
what else is left?
a headless woman grabs me
she could be my mother
i am almost moved
if I could find her head
i would spend eternity sewing it back
tender her chin in my palms
who better than the damned
to build a home from hell
find family in the dying and dead
before i am moved, she is gone
an agent directs her back to her end
while another eyes my neck
what a merciful day in hell
before anyone can draw my blood
i become a citizen
About the author:
Cianga is a Congolese artist based in California, by way of South Africa. They have an MFA from Bennington College and their work seeks to decolonize language and knowledge. Winner of the 2023 Evaristo Prize, Cianga has also been a semifinalist for the 2021 Cave Canem Poetry Prize and NFSPS Board Award. Their work can additionally be found in New England Review, Berkeley Fiction Review and elsewhere.