beneath the sycamore, your memory
hangs, like fog in harmattan.
there’s an open wound in the ground
you prayed over each morning
where I awake to the smell of your love like morning dew
I too, wish to die, but not by my hand
I mix ash with the blood drained from my wrists,
Mutter obscenities, then smudge it across my forehead like it’s Easter
your husband’s shroud hides layers
of grief that unravels every day with yearning
he recedes as I extend my strength to him
life passes us in a blur of wails,
eulogies, and rites and a ground so wet it eats the casket up
Iamlosingmymind—
My palms are coarse with sand and there’s an emptiness in the place you once filled
the air is thick with sex, and the ground, with mud.
I pray for women in kiosks — the ones with holes
in the roof where God’s eye seeps through
I pray for children, burdened with parental responsibilities at 9
I pray for men who buy pleasure with tampons
from children who want to stay alive
There are gods who dance to the rhythm of tingling beads
playing on the waists of the wanton
whose orgasms are heightened by petrichor
You cannot build houses with the
mud that forms after it’s rained
And whenever someone calls me baby
I hear your voice and envision your face
It never gets old
The lingering, the hopeless wishing
And the fire that burned when you first prayed my name in my mother’s sheets
There you were, fractured in all the parts I believe make a man glorious
So, no, I do not love you wholly, but in fragments
bits and pieces that eventually make you, you
Your undulating torso, growing a little bump, you.
Do you remember when I almost said I love you?
What I did was try to breathe
And if a day is a thousand years for God, then you, my love are late
But I will breathe into a pulse, into a breath then into poetry
And create a symphony for you
Roberta Yemofio writes from Accra, Ghana. She is interested in poetry and whatever makes the world better. Aside writing, she enjoys reading psychological fiction and memoirs. You can find her on twitter @iroberta_amanda.