Grieving What We Lost
Because they say black is beauty, you’ve decided to break the night into bits
& give them out to me.
You forget, I once died at night & woke with morning on my chest –
This is a dream I can’t remember.
This thing called ruin, I’m trying to gather back into my memory
& maybe give it a name or make a big picture of it, so my mind doesn’t lose count again.
Just last night, we had the world curled under our breath
& passed it on in doses – your tongue against mine, intruding the inner walls of my mouth.
Isn’t it funny how we get tipsy in the presence of light?
& lose all the memories we had to noise & sunlight.
How we take new names in the crowd & cut ourselves off the past,
Like shadows at the coming of light.
My body frets in the absence of your touch – It makes confession so easy like water,
Soft as music in the mouth of birds.
There is a name to bodies that part with pain.
The white paper you left on the couch still has a strain of you –
The smell of your cologne.
The two-word fragment: Sorry, goodbye,
marks the title of every poem I write, they begin & end my prayers.
Isn’t it funny how we bother less about time
When we part with what we love, that in turn parts with our heart.
No distance becomes too far to walk
& my shadow now leaves my mind on every road I tread.
It’s too foolish to think you’ll see it, trace it & find me once again
On my bed with your last words curled around my motionless body.
By Olaitan Junaid
Olaitan Junaid is a reader, writer, & sometimes, an editor. He is a lover good poetry. He studies English Language & Literature at the Obafemi Awolowo University, Ile-Ife. His works have appeared or are forthcoming on Ngiga Review, NantyGreens, Perhappened Mag, Ghost Heart Literary Journal, & elsewhere. He lives in south-western Nigeria, where he writes from. Say hi to him @olaitan_junaid on Twitter.