2 Poems by Emecheta Christian

The Art of Falling

Your mouth shapes my name
into something sacred—
a prayer formed of words
and borrowed starlight,
while evening gardens release
their heavy perfume into the air
already drunk on exquisiteness.

I've spent years studying
the structure of desire—
how it builds, beam by beam,
in the space between glances—
how it burns slow as olive wood,
catching us like old thoughts
in its honey-gold embrace.

Distance dissolves
like sugar on my tongue
when you gather me close,
your hands reading my skin
like a favorite book
dog-eared at all
the fascinating passages.

We are writing our own mythology
in the language of linked fingers
and shared belief,
adding chapters with each
slow path of discovery
in rooms made holy
by the simple act
of falling.


Sacred Days

These marked squares on calendars
hold more than dates—they cradle memories
of mother's sweet potato pie,
of daddy's laughter like wind chimes in December,
of candles burning bright against the dark.
We dress these days in ritual and remembrance,
wrap them in our tradition's warm embrace,
string them together like precious beads
on the necklace of our history.
Each celebration is a veneration,
each gathering a resurrection
of everything we hold sacred in our hearts.
Together, we make ordinary hours
shine like polished diamonds.