some nights he’s a tidal wave & you drown
as he scripts his love on your back.
& you understand this language
in your sleep, he wakes you with it.
he’s a thunder the raging
kind that arrives in the company of a rainstorm.
to him, love equals raking the ground
with your bones, netting fishes with your skin,
gifting you trembling fingers & wounds.
they say home is a dome full of light & birdsongs
but your body is unaccustomed to such wonders.
he says he loves you
like your mother,
too weak to bear his love &
hid somewhere in the earth.
but this time you’re a windmill
as you roll, you’re a shadow
fading into the wall.
mother is sinking into the white space--
a vastness where dead birds float.
the hands pulling her down, attempting to
extract her from our clutches into a dying song
disguised as acute myeloid leukemia,
an envoy of the realm of darkness.
yesterday I strolled past a cemetery
& saw a headstone toting my mother’s name.
I think it was unaware its act grew
wildflowers from my open wounds.
I’m unready to compose a dirge that portals
me into a galaxy of grief.
dear God, can you hear the shouts of a mother
wrestling turbulence in a body of saltwater?
dear God, can you hear the piercing verses
my heart howls night-long?
dear God, I do not want to know the weight
of silence an empty home carries.
a boy upholds his father’s name, disallowing it from extinction.
I know this. but the mother’s fervent love ensures his existence.
Omodion. first child. your arrival like downpour, soaked
our lives in swelling merry. call it euphoria. call it the
melting of hearts for the celebration of three. this world
unceasingly makes attempts to darken any appearance of light.
I know this. but you’re a star, ablaze in daytime & nighttime.
your laughter, a heavenly sound, cracks my face into a grin,
& commits to silencing the troop of naysayers in the guise
of in-laws. with this life I cram you from dawn to dusk,
I declare you the capital city of jubilation.
We have lived ten thousand lifetimes before the first of men tore through the dirt.
some nights he’s a tidal wave & you drownas he scripts his love on your back.& you understand this language
If you've walked through the long night of grief,you'll meet the ghost that lives in your head.
i am the drowned ghosts of refugees, the one minute silences invented by daughters
the music is loud. everything is loud now especially our chests, howling with memories
what began as throbs ends in a bleed. I return to the trail of my blood-