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.

Advertisements
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.