At The Entrance Of A Gash

by Henry Opeyemi

                               oh Lord, perpetual pain

                               I can't be at home 

                               where my father lays. 

                               [ Daniel Caesar, Sins of The Father]

the stillness in my voice won't 

placate the scream, alchemy of blood 

flowing in crimson blue. my ache is a 

language God understands perfectly & I’m 

thawing my body into something that can be 

raptured. I again sat before my father, eyes 

turning red, a photograph of his youthfulness 

beaming into unwanted colours. ripples of lotus 

flower dying on malnourished soil. before the 

dirge, we were seen hand-picking the similarities 

in our grief. mine, a waterfall. his, an endless 

rain. we both do not know when the storm

would cease. I hid my bones in the sacredness of a

shadow, praying unto the lord the river on my tongue.

the wind speaks our names—and all the things 

I have witnessed stood before me bodiless. I 

listened carefully to what the wind has to say, 

I heard my father's voice in it, saying: do not 

embody grief,do not embody grief. Oh Lord, full 

of mercy, In what doom does my story end? In 

what rubble do I build for my fall? I’m offering my 

heart for the voidness the world has to give, I’m 

becoming a sunflower blooming out of regrets. I became

a priest at the entrance of a gash: olive oil & missals befitting 

the agony in my lungs. There is nothing miraculous about 

healing when the body is known for hurt, tell me, father, what 

walks into our lives without first knowing the act of dying? 

Bio;

Henry Opeyemi is a graphics designer, photographer, sign language interpreter, chess enthusiast and a poet. He hails from the northern part of Nigeria. His work has appeared in Green Climate, Natures Bird, Frontier and more. He is the author of The Volume of Constant Screams. When he is not writing he is teaching hearing impaired kids how to play chess.