A poem by Ayomide Wes Oriolowo
There is something about discovering
That your body can hold water
That makes you forget breathing
Takes you to a place where water in your lungs
makes your body tick/makes it
feel more alive than it should. You call it
your type of madness. You hope to live
long enough in the feeling that a poem
takes roots and
holds your body to the ground.
you shame figures with air flowing through their body.
You ponder -
why the body, holding such wonder,
would keep letting it go.
In your body, ghosts talk
and the air turns to water.
You are the moon-
Perforated on the surface-
Light so lost on your body
you have no idea where to look.
Then your body,
One day, drops
And all your flowers come spilling out
from your mouth
For others to pick
For the earth to swallow.