the first rule of survival

Timi Sanni

this country is the mouth of a badland / & here i carry survival in my pocket / like a knife / jostle with the beasts of this savage nation / for water / for life / for the security of my lifeblood / a rare cactus sap is drumming in my jugular / its rhythm in line with the beat of death / —that familiar, dehiscent death / dry as a bone / hollow like the memory of nothing // on these sands of horror / i wear the scarred face of a dune / & this face / where death first made its mark / is for me, a beacon of pride // see / the first rule of survival is not to die / i am a testament / to every death that came & left empty-handed.