for Aunt N—
My dear ant comes
to me in dreams.
Because she’s so
small, she can make
a tiny hole in my
cerebrum. My dear ant
offers me a glass of water.
She thinks I need to
be softer than bones to
breathe. My dear ant
is learning to exhale—
it is this close to surrender.
My dear ant asks me
to sing her a hymn.
But, I am not sure she’s
more river than dust,
to flow with my
rhythm. I am not sure
my dear ant can be
washed into the
surface of my lesion
& not hurt, & be hurt.
My dear ant kisses
my cheeks. & the warmth
is an agony. the only thing
she left behind. She
tells me she’s sorry. And I
wonder why the dear bear
the guilt for their own
misfortunes? My dear ant asks
how my mother is doing.
& I say, fine. She’s healing.
Maybe, you can visit her too
in dreams, & cover the
moles on her flesh.
My dear ant crawls
into my palm & says
cover me, beloved.
So I cup my palm & sing her
the lullaby she sang me
at four. we fall
asleep, only to wake up
to my palm cold &
frozen. A sting
sprawling in my phalanges.
She was gone
again.
Again. Again.
Chinedu Gospel, frontiers IV, is a Nigerian poet & undergraduate. His works have appeared in Fiyah Magazine, Savant Garde, Foglifter Press, Hoax publications, Blue Marble Review & elsewhere. He tweets @gonspoetry.
