Poetry from Dipe Jolaade

Memory

Steady afternoon of brown lights. A

boy dicing dusty sheets into his fragile

mouth. The teacher’s room in tumour.

Flayed papers flying around.

 

It is a classroom. The seats look creak

enough to break the silence of the day.

The atmosphere so blue we planted & bred

flowers inside our throat.

 

Two bodies bridging the

bond between breaths. Your Lanky

hands on a child so dear. It was a first

time i breathed as one with you.

 

We found our way into deeper lands –

wet and drippy – through tunnels. An

unending tickling amidst short cackles

and silent whispers.

 

Steady afternoon of brown lights. A

boy dicing dusty sheets into his fragile

mouth. The teacher’s room in tumour.

Flayed papers flying around.

  

 

in the beginning

was God and he is too pissed to carve us righteous titles

as well as righteous names  because we suck at upholding royalties

because we fringe into scarred corners and drill rotting  bruises

because we are too ugly to behold beautiful things

because our blood is too wounded to be named after an afternoon sun

because we are too salty to be chlorinated

because we are too void to be filled

because we are who we are and we can not change

because we chase after a ghost for restoration

because we drink foolishness out of brimmed churches

because we are deaf to a boy’s cry

because we are blind to a girl’s wounds

because we suck at humanity

because we own heavy voices to call out darkness

because we cringe at the mention of bullets

because our mothers are too beautiful to bear black children

because our absence reek of aloneness

because our bed space would wear a sad visage

because our wears would wear women’s grief

because. because. because.

 

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