By
Ogana D. Okpah
THE MIRACLE WORKER
Mrs Petra sieved a grain of wheat
Set up a fire and boiled in an earthen pot
by the time, we were praying
in the household field – stationary dolls.
A grain of wheat and an ear of corn
Suddenly, fills the pots – arching
Mrs Petra is called for Jehovah,
we wondered if there was a black Jesus
if we were to think of God’s skin colour in the radar
a pink blue woman by heart,
dreadlocking city corners, down its split
This city is a prown city, that hatch
crocodiles in a close rim. The rivermaid
is lost in seasonal stream;
her miracles are a thing of the flesh?
she presses her arm
Again and host a breed of flies
Closed in a petri dish, to clone
Made us close our eyes in prayer
miracle fell upon us from the loosed
We were indeed besiege
As when christ, fed the crowd of thousands,
she may press on in a reality TV show,
to feed us now, of millions?
Mrs Petra is a miracle worker
So the congregation said
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