In The Palm Of His Hands Poem by Anitah Muwanguzi

The white ceiling above me could cave in

the ground beneath my feet give way into a bottomless void

the deceptively still night could release other- realm horrors to torment my soul

cockroaches could crawl into my nostrils and embed their nests underneath my skin

My feet could choose to become immobile, my ability for motion robbed from me

these eyes I treasure could fail to open from one moment to the next

Open my mouth and whatever motion elicits no sound


Oh but how he loves me

inscribed in his veins when he hung up on that cross; every scar, every hurt, every blemish

my salvation.



So I walk out my door

Sleep beneath my ceiling in confidence

Tiptoe outside when the moon won’t show his face staring left, right, down, finally up

Galloping forward

Secure in the knowledge,

All IS WELL.