they left their masks in the streets
castanets lay in the potholes
they peeled off their colourful costumes,
folded them up along with their fly whisks
left the brass band playing to a city that is atrophying
the market circle goddess cleaned up after them
she is the oldest thing in the city but the carnival has usurped her place
the brass band is still playing to a disintegrating city
fingers labour on trumpet valves
trombones barely rumble
the gods keep sacrificing themselves to bind the city together
but the alchemists have all left
the sorcerers won’t turn their staffs on the fifth day to help
they come back on the same day each year for the carnival in their colourful
costumes to pick up their castanets
pull on their masks and dawn the persona of the Ankos
the carnival is a decadent pleasure for them, for all of us; we get to forget
in this place where all that you are, is your address book. forgetting is an addiction
they
us
we
choose not to remember the city was dead most of the year because
it’s transcendent during the carnival
& soon we won’t have a home to return to
the gods refuse to immolate themselves any longer
Nana Afadua Ofori-Atta is a Ghanaian writer and poet who lives in Takoradi and is an avid tennis fan. Her writing has appeared in the Ex-Puritian, Lolwe, Fantasy Magazine, AFREADA, the Lumiere Review, Crow & Cross Keys and elsewhere. She can be found on Twitter @afaduawrites.
