No Budget Poem by Henrietta Ezegbe

Creation
has never behaved
like scarcity.

The orchard
does not apologize
for another branch.

The tide
does not invoice
the shoreline.

Morning
arrives extravagant
every day,

spending light
on abandoned fields
as freely
as gardens.

Yet somewhere
the soul learns
to negotiate
with hunger.

To ask
for less room.
Less joy.
Less voice.

As though heaven
keeps ledgers.

As though mercy
requires receipts.

But the river
has no budget.

Only direction.

Living lungs
do not ration
their next breath.

Seeds split open
without consulting
the economy.

Stars continue
their impossible multiplication

above roofs
that never look up.

So she begins again.
Not demanding.
Not bargaining.

Simply asking
with open hands,

because she understands now

that scarcity
was never
the language of the divine.