At twelve, she had already slapped
An angel,

What’s next?
She had pulled the world and rested feet
On top.
The whistle her rounded lips exhaled,
Knocked down mountains and splashed
All water out of the seabeds,

The forests uprooted
As if the tsunami the sky
Promised centuries ago had flown by.

What else
When the world was under her feet?
She had rolled the sky and made the sun
Desolate,
Ruined the firmament, and the mourning
Above made endless.

The sun lost its abode, where it hid
After a day’s travel.

She spun the earth and revealed the root
Of the sun, how static it has planted above
The earth.

She shook the moon and dusted it,
The scales of dirt on its eyes wiped off
And it had began
To shine like its twin brother
Subduing all its competitors in the night sky.

The night rolled away from existence.
What’s next?
At twelve, she had slapped an angel.

Agaigbe Uhembansha writes from Abuja, Nigeria. His work has appeared in Parcham, ArtsLounge, Poetry, Fictionette, GlobeSoup, MockingOwl and elsewhere. He has publications or manuscripts across poetry, prose and drama.