The memories we carry in our bellies

if a house stands for too long
does it grow into a home?
home grows into a tomb
the day a mother buries her children
they say everything born will die
what about grief and the flame it carries?
a mother sits beside the grave
of her last child
trying to plait his name into memories
with question hanging down
her eyes then she weaves him into a void.
if a memory stays for too long
does in grow into history?
the night echoes fell
off our pocket, we traced
it to the government house
and they filled our lungs
with blood.
We eat when we bury our dead
hope you wonder why?
for the memories
we can’t carry in our eyes
we carry in our bellies.


I slept again without my bones,
Nights like yesterday sleep becomes an ocean
For you to drown in and my bones
easily gives me away _
It was 11pm when they sneaked out
Of my body
To be with the memories
Of my mother;
Her memories always open into a stream for me to bath in.
On mornings like this,
she gives quit notice to all organs in my body
and I become an empty space
Only allowed to accommodate her.
In her smile she makes the world a prison
and her hugs
becomes the only escape route.
I keep trying to spell you in metaphors and melodies
but words fail me
I now understand when you said that some fishes drown in water
Not because they can’t swim but because the water fails them.

About the Author

Ozota Gerald Obinna writes from a small town called Nsukka in Enugu, he loves listening to cricket and birds, he writes about losses and grief.  He has works forthcoming and featured in various magazines. He writes to stay happy

We're legion

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