Natasha Oladokun
Saturday Night Special

Pageant sash emblazoned on his chest,

White Jesus holds a staff under his arm.


Clean. Serene. Suppressing indigestion

as Sunday’s sermon twists, a lodestone bomb


locked in my gut, I contemplate still life—

Still, life in portraiture may smuggle truth,


if truth is where the bread invites the knife.

We nurse our credos like an aching tooth.


When I pray to the Lord, I dream Him moved

in heaven: all ears dragged to the ground—


black earth—I buckle in—steel tracks, bent, smoothed—

The engine of the maker runs me down


and God is both the table and the hunger,

and I am both the bullet and the gunner.





Found In Volume 47, No. 01
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Natasha Oladokun
About the Author

Natasha Oladokun is a Cave Canem fellow, poet, and essayist. Her work has appeared in Pleiades, IMAGE Journal, The RS 500, Bird's Thumb, and elsewhere. She is Assistant Poetry Editor at storySouth, and is currently a Visiting Assistant Professor of English at Hollins University, her MFA alma mater.