The Long Way Home
you unearth mother’s diary & suddenly God comes alive
on every page. in this book, you find her kneeling at the
edge of paragraphs, raising head to a crucifix with lips
scarred from fervently praying that you amount
to good. & in your heart, you search for memories
to fold & unfold like a child learning the
origami. a cloud forms somewhere in your
eyes & there’s a little boy, his mother dousing him
with oil & the book of Psalms 23—the lord is your
shepherd for you shall not want & the boy nods. she opens
his heart & a church springs to life. now, his body isn’t
what mother once broke bread on. the halo on his head
melting into what looks like sin. & to think growing up, he
spewed manna from the mouth of his belly, raising altars
across the breadth of each breath. well, no one can
fathom the depth of a fall. nevertheless home is a doll
wrapped in a gift box but with a tag dangling in the
corner; Silly boy! what took you so long.
………….
The Art of self-sabotage
it is past the hour of five & i am
still not friends with the clock & cock
that crows from outside my
window. a constant reminder that
stagnation has no room on earth. for
everything keeps moving & moving.
//
if only i could exist without time.
//
on some days i become a litmus paper dipped
in a beaker steaming with grief. i do this to test for
mortality. how
much of me still breathes. how
much of me truly wants to live. call
this self-sabotage but i am tired of
waking to the smell of bodies littered
all over the boulevard that is
my heart. i think it works as a
guillotine during the day & a hearse
at nightfall.
………….
Poetry © Bobbybryan Uzoma
Image by eva7869 from Pixabay