[161 words]
i.
in this dream we’re all sharp objects and try, please, dance with me & ignore the burning roof. so we’re dancing manically, limb joining limb and our legs are burning. it’s a race against death. death of this memory being consumed by grief. by morning, all i’d have will be the taste of beginnings.
ii.
father lit his fires like a sacrifice to a dead diety. he’d sit and stare at the roaring flames while he regaled us to tales of his childhood, his eyes glassy with tears. once, for want of a nightmare, i asked what happened when his village was sacked. now i know why dead men tell no tales.
iii.
we’re watching you go into a box inside another box and i can’t find another metaphor for funeral. your mother’s voice louder than the hymns – louder than the raging echo inside me. funerals shouldn’t be on Wednesday afternoons. you shouldn’t be in a box. you shouldn’t have died.
Anthony Ikeh wishes he could eat spaghetti 365 days a year without consequences. He’s favorite pastime is reading literature and watching his favorite team, FC Barcelona play.
