Poetry
Cartography of Breath
A poem about finding the body again after fear has made every room unfamiliar.
R
Richard Nkwenti
1 min read
I learned the country of my fear
by its weather—
the sudden iron in the mouth,
the windows narrowing,
the heart sending horses
through an empty street.
No map said: begin here.
So I placed one hand
where the ribs make a gate
and waited for the smallest citizen
to return.
Breath came without a banner.
It did not promise safety.
It drew one pale road
from this moment
to the next.
I followed.
By morning, the country
was not conquered.
It was inhabited.
And every border I had named
became a shoreline—
not an ending,
but a place where two worlds
could touch without becoming one.
