Tag Archive for: Efe Ogufere

Tuesday Poem by Efe Ogufere

(For Oniovosa)

two sets of little feet shuffle
in a sea of periwinkle shells,
keenly taking lessons
on patience and deception
from scruffy fishermen in Orerokpe.
sustenance as a bait for sustenance.

if death has no allure to the living
-little brother squirms when
a worm wriggles in his grasp-
why then do damaged men
pour from a bridge into the deep?

hook ready, the fish folk signal
for silence to wash over us,
each breath metered as though
a tasting of fine wine before a feast.
our offering to the river is a painful wait
for the tugging of the line.

brother rises as though in a trance
and plunges into the river
viscosity shows no spine
as the film of oil breaks
and the black adorns him in its sheen.

I still remember not flinching,
nerves of steel, or shock,
or simply dearth of common sense,
until he was baptized three times.
to this day mother still chides
about a siren’s unanswered call.

Tuesday Poem by Efe Ogufere

this woman’s body is not a home,
beautiful broken things do not make a home.
it is an abandoned house
around the corner,
walk too briskly
and you’d miss it.

Mother neatly folds sobs
between her wrappers
carefully placing them in a box,
sighs and despondent smiles,
she walks out and dares a lion to bare his teeth.
she forgot she was a pacifist.

the crunch of breaking bones,
a marriage of fists does not
end in a dance of naked flesh.

her terse voice orders me
back to sleep
back to denial
then her tired, sad smile
and she whispers,
back to bed Jethro,
your father and I are just dancing