Màámi's yellow and red pills stared, almost drained
but unlike their owner, their colours never sank.
shadows drowned. for one reason, I saw the night skies in me,
moonless was that blanket, even the stars felt hidden.
tears refused to become a river
& questions flowed instead - Kẹ́hìńdé, why did you leave?
why did you leave that àdìrẹ shirt we both owned?
I know it's been three years, four months, five weeks and
seven days your light left this lamp but I remember this
because on nights like these, Ìdòwú's cries plays - a song on
repeat in my head - despair, your tree in our hearts
& like the camphor scent in Ìyá Àgbà's wardrobe, your absence
built another void, another presence, a new essence.
Ìdòwú became a lady even before the girl in her bloomed &
Bàámi just fizzled out of our lives - my only reminder of him
is that scar, beneath my eyes. can you ever forget?
Kẹ́hìńdé, the night after you left, Máàmi's heavy breaths were the
only delicacies our walls could eat. Her coals were doused by the news
of your departure, yes, even her last words sounded like that in my ears.
I don't know why I'm writing these, but I hope you're done chasing buses. Let your worries stop on me. To live, I write, to write, I cry, to cry, I remind myself of you, of the nights before the night you left. You can still come, your bed still waits, I do not resent you, neither does this house.
Odemakin Taiwo Hassan
©️ Hassium Inks
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