Say all lives are hurtling past the stars;
Each of us in our homes,
Past the matter and the not-matter
And by the way, who gets to choose which
Day you close the shutters, shimmy
Into bed, and adjust the covers
For the last time?
Your story came to us like ancient history,
Back of the google search result page,
Of course there were more, so many
I cried as I named them, and my sadness
Is not like your sadness; far-away
Sadness, drafting my emails and slicing
Cake-in-the-afternoon-sadness. I’m sad
And distracted—I love what you’ve done
O God, I love the people I love
And today they are snaking
Heavenward as I name them.
And Brent, do you have
A daughter?
Gravity’s warping around the bodies buried
In the ground when they’re lowered.
If not much else, I know at least that
About black holes, I know the space we leave
Behind. I’ve seen the light that suffers for it.
–
Ifoghale Eguwe is a young poet living and writing from Nigeria. He has previously been published in Yemassee Journal.