HOW MEMORIES MAKE BROKEN MEN
I have broken and disjointed memories of my childhood,
but every memory of you is untouched,
untainted and unchanged, Father.
Your flaws have carved the outcrop
of my existence into a restless rhythm.
You taught me how to raze bridges,
hold ash on my tongue till it dissolves
into a song of sober indifference.
I keep a souvenir of hearts broken,
a tribute to you, wayfaring stranger.
You have sculpted me in your image,
your finest work yet.
The first night you walked away
into blackness and then memory,
I died more than a little inside.
No one heard the screams in my head
as I stared out the window and counted
the few good memories on my stubby fingers.
When you returned I saw parts of you were missing,
you had lost shards of yourself,
become a collage of misfits,
unsure how to nurse your family tree.
No one knew it then but me,
so I numbered time until you left us again
on my fingers and toes-
94 days, 38 minutes
and 3 long seconds of misery
Efe Ogufere tweets at @theaventurine.