Issue 10

may 2018

Sweet Distraction

whereas love is the sad, obvious blur of songs
people point to when they wonder where it is
you’ve gone, like the silence that comes back

a million times bigger than me, & sneaks into
my bones & wails & wails through my father’s
mouth as a boy i didn’t want to live here, not

among the wild absence— the mouth of unsafe
doors yawning to suck us in, each night like the
air what is it they say, life is a beautiful melody,

only the lyrics are messed up i picture my mother—
red hills that loop & elongates in my father’s chest,
in the diaphragm & in the eyes thinking this pain

will go on forever i used to laugh at those who
fall helplessly for the colors of love shooting out of
their skin— the lurid red leaves demanding for a

clanging or screaming alarm in bathtubs or how
fingers under sleep-stunned sheets turn their cold
wood into a backyard bonfire but the same fire tree

comes to me for the first time in my life, what i mean is:
there are days i want to feel the exchange, the warm hand on
my shoulder, the big-voiced song coming out & my ear holding

onto it sometimes i want to lie down on the floor in the kitchen & pretend i am home
other times i want to stare, or stand in the

field across from the street, watching the
sugar maple throw down its tender winged
seeds before i nest my head into the blood

of another body with a small live letter
that says only,

Taiye Ojo is a young Nigerian who uses poetry as a handy tool to hide his frustration with the society. .

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