Items in My Absent Father’s Box

  1. a rolled paper full of half-burnt names
  2. a wet brown paper whose dryness at one of its edge is
    a weary shape of my country’s map.
  3. a camera. i switched on this recorder of fire & loss. the
    last series of unprinted oxymorons there are tanker
    explosions, a farmer in a maize farmland drowned by
    the hunger of some cattle, & a formless body
    draped from a sea, maybe
    father took his death selfie before he dissolved in echoes. maybe
  4. a ministry of dry gin bottles. roofless as if absence is a bomb blast.
  5. maybes
  6. a tin rust of his coffined fragrance.
  7. a shirt. the sleeve, eaten up by a severe silence in the
    anger of flames. that’s the summary of absence when you
    look closely enough to discover it’s a prophecy oiling
    our heads.
  8. an incomplete poem. to be complete is giving all holes
    in your body a feel of home. the poem ends with loss
    & an ellipsis. I didn’t say ellipses are pints of blood. Yes.
  9. an old age too early to become seeds. a childhood of paternal ruins.
  10. a dentition-designed piece of biscuit. with its remains you’d know he was
    killed while eating.
  11. prayers quartered by water halfway my continuous search. amen

Mesioye Johnson is a writer who loves the darkness of the world, hence, the gift of art he gives.

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