In a bathroom, I learnt to hide my tears

in Curie2 months ago

louder than fear, i said emptiness.
so it rained, the tap sighed & night

was broken on the tap head. all
things cast the shadow of earth.

this earth has too much shadows.
that much weight? I begged her to

stop, carried her charred because
she was fire in her body, she, the

barrow of the world. she said fine
is an euphemism for fire in any

language. I told my mother, bent,
I'm fine & a vulture's beak broke my

skin. my chest quivered into life
like a garotte stretching fingers.

She said, around my scarred throat,
I'm the girl that is not death, her

hips like a swallow beneath the
creator, river returned into me
. I

didn't see, high on cannabis but the
language of sight showed me my

mother sought, when I did not cry,
the cliff of her tongue language &

there, the river did not cry. But a
god punished & he called it birth.

I was drunk on iron. Into form, my
bones became an anvil when morning

showed me how to cut my umbilical,
my tears the wound behind sight,

my body, the tide that brought the
door to the shower where I drowned

the womb. the river had sloughed
& on the bathroom mat, slept hope.


IMG_20201128_175615_870.jpg

📸: pixabay


Yours always,
Osahon (warpedpoetic)