lost
In this city that breathes fire
Of people who scamper up mountains but slide back down tragically
And try again the next day with puffed out chests
And unrelenting resolves
People who collect sweat in bags and pride in them like trophies
I am the odd one out
A frozen, wilting picture
There is nothing that I am living for;
I am tying
nothing down
My surname (my father's) will fall into oblivion
after I am gone
So I hold images hostage
in my eyeballs
when I walk on the streets
Sometimes until I get hit by a vehicle
& my bones are very flexible pillars
That readily go on dry fasts
My mind is a crossword puzzle
Sometimes it is a T-junction
I am two sides of one coin
Two heads that wield tongues and
slug each other out, fighting for domination,
Fighting for
understanding
The Going That You Went
For Gbenga
This is not a story I am worthy of telling.
Children must know their place.
But somebody has to tell it, since Mama
is too busy being rightfully angry
at the world &
it is true that I am now a child to you; you are older than me in death.
But if a child starts with an apology, she may render a proverb. If a child
washes her hands, she may eat with kings.
I have been thinking about it. I wonder, the way you left—did your spirit wake you up in the middle
of the night and ask you to stand up?
Did your spirit banish you from this earth?
How did you know when to go?
How did you know when the air was crisp enough to
Lift a whole body off a bridge, in front of a train, into a
Sack?
There is nobody to be angry at. There is no grief at this point. None of your
things are here anymore. The sea won't divulge much.
Don't worry, Mama is fine. She is still as stringent as ever.
And you will be happy to know that when she mentions you—and she does this a lot—it is with no sadness.
In fact, she mentions you to compare our rebelliousness to your obedience and to say that she misses you and you are (were) her only proper child.
Rest well, my brother. I hope your body is light, wherever you are.
Omotoyosi Salami is a poet and writer living in Lagos, Nigeria. A lot of her writing is influenced by the various inequalities that exist in her country. Her work has been published in Kalahari Review, Brittle Paper, and Constellation Journal. If you do not find her reading a book, you will find her writing something. She is on Twitter as @HM_Omotoyosi.
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