Stay here and
By Wendy Okeke
the new year begins in the Septembers we flee
again. Fireworks bleed into the sky, a nuanced rainbow.
Night traffic glaze windows beyond a bridge of cars.
On a purple couch, Sunday rests. A blunt. A sweet love.
& I awoke to September rains calling.
Friends trail over new old love & fresh linen.
Laughter bouncing off squares of phone screens.
I dig my whole hand in paint for rebirth.
For I am yet to write my favourite poem.
To relive my father’s memories in dreams.
That you can kiss a woman & her moan will sing in your belly,
a harmony of the unrepenting gospels.
That sunlight is not crucial for all plants to grow.
For that day in April the family will never forget.
That new resolutions are for souls departed.
For mother ’s hollow-boned voice & laali-ruddy hairs.
For my niece’s growing wonder like a thing invited.
Because I wore out of hunting things that do not chase me with urgency.
That survival is an ill-fated reward.
The sun expanding its rays dangerously into her brown trespassing eyes.
For foreheads kissing the ground & the marching.
For knees that know the silence of silence.
All that is worth of last night’s filth.
Because this body is more than a tent.
For poems of bodies broken under herdsmen’s blades.
Because here, in the majesty of chaos, rage sings sweeter than fear.
For trees dancing to the music of winds.
Setting an entire life into a few suitcases.
For do not disturb signs & sprawled brown trench coats.
For now, bare skin on my back, pushing breath into my spine.
For long, winding roads that promise new beginnings.
Cloaked moonlight rays falling on the black of her skin.
All of this, invited.
BIO:
Wendy Okeke is a Nigerian writer, poet, and performer whose work examines the complexities of the human experience, exploring themes of identity, migration, and belonging.
