image source: google images


Baami the day you left/ & your shadow fleeted

in smokes/ & home became a painting of chernobyl /

And left us as pawns to memory/ as ghosts

To our respectively broken flesh/ the sky didn’t fall/

But your face fell off mine/ like passengers

at the tarmac/ your name became alien & charred/

But too hard/ a code to unstore/ And it haunted us/

In sleep & everywhere/ with strange Tongue/

And whips/ But we took ritual in forms/

To renounce the hexes you left/ behind as verbs/

That day you left Baami/ we bought rose

in memory/ of our eschewing father/

And gifted the wilted/ remains to the bin.


About the author

Olúwapèlúmi Francis Sàlàkó writes from North Central, Nigeria. His writings aim to interrogate the place of memory, loss & love, society & stereotypes, culture, history, time and space. His writings have appeared or are forthcoming in Dwarts, Tuckmagazine, Prachya review, the rising phoenix review, elsewhere.

We're legion

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