we managed to share conversation like old friends.
& i could still find her laugh
riveting; like the smell of spicy food, or the softness
of bini music. she looked beautiful
in her blue lace gown, & against better judgement, we chose
to sit together.
we watched the bride dance.
an entourage of women adorned in red beads followed her singing praises
to her mother. i shifted in my seat, i was beginning to feel
termites bite through the walls of my lungs. i wondered if she felt
something similar. we looked at each other, & time rolled by;
ten seconds, twenty, maybe even thirty. . .
she didn’t say a word, i knew i didn’t need
to either. we were both thinking
the same thing, ‘what the hell
happened to us?’
i got home that evening & sat alone with a bag
of fried yams. there was no power.
my neighbours kept the night alive with generator sounds,
& hip-hop beats. i couldn’t stop thinking of her.
even as mosquitoes started to circle my head,
announcing their presence, starting our
quotidian ceremony
of blood.
YOU ARE READING
Endless. Blue
Poetry"the day you first told me you loved me, it was hot, the sun picked at our skins like god was trying to kill us with a magnifying glass. . ."
