Njoku Nonso
Pray the Dust
For NK
A little while, & then,
an extraordinary wave gathering all we have loved,
kept hidden within the green tentacles of memory,
under a burning house.
[Glory the fire. Glory the body it burns.
Glory the scar.] Such force can last a lifespan.
A yellow bird disconnects from the orange sky,
a sliver of lightning burning its neck.
There’s a funeral at our porch.
You do not say anything when I pick up its carcass
& show your happy face what the dead looks like.
I think the dead dress up themselves,
sometimes chaotic, sometimes tender like an egg.
Together, we watch what’s left in the funeral pyre,
charred meat becoming one with ash.
At night an owl hoots behind the shadows of tropical trees
spread all over our compound like guardians,
there’s nothing left to hold your shattering bone.
I have kept your hair locked up in an airtight box
as remainder of the past.
When it finally decays, I shall claim the dust.
The wild offering that can be made to the windstorm.
Forgive me, love can also be a wild horse without legs,
bruised like an unrequited prayer.
Forgive me, I have learnt to love every echo in your heart,
or anything as tender as your stained breath.
All is green. Then greener & greener.
A little while, & then,
an extraordinary wave gathering all we have loved,
kept hidden within the green tentacles of memory,
under a burning house.
[Glory the fire. Glory the body it burns.
Glory the scar.] Such force can last a lifespan.
A yellow bird disconnects from the orange sky,
a sliver of lightning burning its neck.
There’s a funeral at our porch.
You do not say anything when I pick up its carcass
& show your happy face what the dead looks like.
I think the dead dress up themselves,
sometimes chaotic, sometimes tender like an egg.
Together, we watch what’s left in the funeral pyre,
charred meat becoming one with ash.
At night an owl hoots behind the shadows of tropical trees
spread all over our compound like guardians,
there’s nothing left to hold your shattering bone.
I have kept your hair locked up in an airtight box
as remainder of the past.
When it finally decays, I shall claim the dust.
The wild offering that can be made to the windstorm.
Forgive me, love can also be a wild horse without legs,
bruised like an unrequited prayer.
Forgive me, I have learnt to love every echo in your heart,
or anything as tender as your stained breath.
All is green. Then greener & greener.
Biography
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Njoku Nonso is a Nigerian poet, essayist, and medical student. His work has appeared in Brittle Paper, Dwartsonline, Praxis, and elsewhere. He loves dogs. Hook up via Twitter @NN_Emmanuels
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