Josiah Ikpe

KISSES IN PHANTOM by Yuu Ikeda

When the moon rises, I remember your kisses.

The silky affection soaks into my lips, and brings me the eternal phantom.

But when the sun comes back, I notice that your warmth is not on my lips.

Every time the brightness wakes me up, I sink to the empty horizon, the same as the moon does.

At the beginning of a day, I wander like a ghost. At the end of a day, I close my eyes, feeling your kisses.

OLD YABA ROAD by Josiah Ikpe

Udeh took Elakeche by the arm, held her gaze for what seemed like a moment, and said, ‘You have to believe me. I didn’t steal the money.’ Elakeche sighed. She held back her husband’s gaze. It was mid-evening already and the light had gone off moments ago. The living room had roared with darkness until, Gracie, her eldest daughter, lit the kerosene lamp and placed it on a wooden stool beside the cassette player. Outside, just in front of her yard, the neighbor’s children barked in the dark.

It wasn’t that she didn’t believe him. In all honesty, she did. But it was the way it had happened and the way he had narrated it to her that shook the wall of her certainty in him. Now, she was faced with the burden of having to doubt him for an act she knew he didn’t have the guts to commit.

‘I believe you, Udeh,’ she said and collapsed on the worn-out cushion behind her. Her legs were aching badly from walking all through the streets of Balogun market earlier this morning, seeking the right wares and bargaining for a moderate price. The journey had left her exhausted when she arrived home later in the afternoon. She’d desired to stay indoors and rest, but the goods at the kiosk had to be sold out so that she could display the new sets she had bought. So she later found herself walking to her kiosk down the Old Yaba Road, arranging her goods on the shelves, and chatting with Mama Nonso about the indiscriminate hike of the prices of goods, and all the while praying for the night to come so she could close the kiosk and retire for the night.

‘You believe me?’ Udeh asked, jarring the silence that had settled between them. His look was somewhat entreating, and Elakeche could tell that he desperately needed her reassurance of his innocence before he could fall back to being himself again.

She briefly nodded and then threw her face elsewhere. She sensed something just didn’t add up somewhere, but she couldn’t put her fingers on it yet. He certainly was withholding something, perhaps a piece of the puzzle that would make her fully understand how he could just be suspended from work without any concrete proof besides his allegedly stealing the money kept under his

custody.

The noises coming from the neighbour’s flat lingered in the air of the living room. Time drifted by slowly. Then, an offensive smell wafted through the air. Elakeche flared her nostrils and then came undone at her foolishness. It was right in her face all this time and yet she’d failed to see it. Somehow, it always came back to this - his habitual drinking.

‘Tell me the truth. You were drunk while on duty, right?’ She asked, surprising both Udeh and herself.

Udeh’s jaw tightened. Lines of despair ran along his face. He thought to speak but the moment he began, he stopped abruptly. He began speaking again, but she could hardly make out what he was saying, his words barely audible. Catching his gaze, she gave him a sharp-piercing look and this made him project his voice a little higher than before.

‘Yes,’ he said aloud. ‘But it isn’t as you think.’

Anger swelled inside of her. She shifted her eyes to the television remote sitting next to her, and for a slight second, she thought of flinging it at him. But she stilled herself, and collectedly hung her thoughts on someplace else. All her life, of the ones she’d spent while being married to him, she had never come close to this point where she gravely needed to squeeze the life out of him. A push, just one push was all it would require to get her there; an action that would forever alter the course of their lives.

‘It was only one bottle I took, just one bottle,’ he said and raised his index finger in the air, and swirled it to reemphasize his point. He then narrowed his eyes and glanced up to the ceiling, drops of sweat running down his forehead.

The heat in the living room was rapidly closing in on them and this made Elakeche pick up a raffia hand fan lying on the floor right next to her feet, and she began fanning herself with it. She then gestured to one of her middle sons perched in a corner of the living room to draw and knot the curtains together so that air could come in. She just didn’t know what to say anymore. Words were

now such a prized possession for she to bargain with. Just how could she make sense of who he has turned into when his behaviour had become erratic by constant drinking? And what magic does she have to pull to make her husband see that this nature would bring him only destruction?

‘It was under my watch. I left my post for only a minute. When I got back from the bar I couldn’t find the money. I searched everywhere. I asked my colleagues. No one saw or noticed anything. I reported the incident but I was later accused of stealing the money.’ Udeh said as his voice trailed off. A vein popped out in his neck and sadness clouded his features. His face seemed a little longer and more rectangular than usual.

With concealed alarm, she watched as his hands trembled repeatedly. Not only did he go out drinking but also neglected his post. What else was she missing or was he not telling her? With him, as long as alcohol was a whiff away, nothing was exactly impossible.

‘I’ve heard you. Ohaale. It is okay. We hope the subsequent days make things clearer,’ she said, as that was all she could say to him at that moment. Her head was aching sequentially and her thoughts were becoming wide and wild. She sensed she’d go mad with rage if she sat there a minute longer, staring at his face with that yellowish colour his upper tooth had changed to.

Rising to her feet, she summoned her eldest daughter. ‘Gracie, kewe. Come.’ she said. ‘Go to the kitchen and bring your father’s food. When he’s done eating make sure you wash the dishes and shut the kitchen door properly. I’d be in my room.’

With that, she vanished through the dimly lit corridor and then into the warmth and cracks of her room.

She laid awake partly through the night. Sleep was miles away from her reach. The power still hadn’t been restored, and as she laid there, she could feel certain wetness come under her armpit, right where her wrapper was knotted. The silhouette from the kerosene lamp placed at the heart of the corridor, just outside her room and that of the children’s room made her think, for a moment,

that she was being watched by an eerie figure. Her eyes and mind were wide open and fully awake, as though they were both determining things, things that would make other things hazy and obscure if they were not determined at this moment.

The years had sped past rapidly, and to say that she was satisfied at the turn her life had taken would be to overstate things. In some ways, she was, and in others, she wasn’t. The births of her children had brought her so much joy, so much that she couldn’t help but recollect how each of their births had gone.

Jude’s birth, her eldest son, had taken a toll on her to the extent that she almost gave up on life itself. Gracie’s birth came rather easy but left her legs so swollen that she couldn’t stand for too long days after. Emma’s birth came with a little complication due to his enormous size; making her spend more than twenty-four hours in the delivery room. Joshua’s birth was quite a rush. One second her water just broke and the next, she was holding tightly to a little being. And just like Jude’s, Matthew’s birth left her disoriented that she vowed not to have any after him. But his cuteness was enough compensation, one which later made her rethink. With experience serving as a major directory, Agnes’s birth was effortless.

Looking back on all of those now lightened her mood and made her less tense. It gave her room to breathe evenly, worries shrinking out of her system. And for that, she was grateful. More so, extremely grateful.

She turned on her side and faced Udeh who was fast asleep, snoring rather loudly than usual. She kept her eyes on him, examining the marks dotted across his face and bare chest as though she was searching for something that ought not to be there, perhaps something that confirm her theory of why he’d suddenly become unrecognizable.

She’d had been married to him for close to two decades now, and no day had gone by that he hadn’t made her peruse through the thoughts of ‘what if’. No, they hardly fought, except for some days he’d come home extremely high. Yes, he drank too much, way more than he ought to, but he was a man of honesty. Integrity was one of those things solidly lodged inside of him. One could call him several things, but to accuse him of theft and insist that he was one, was inconceivable.

She knew him quite well. She could tell when the food didn’t go well with his system just from looking at his face. She knew how he teased her about the firmness of her breasts even after multiple mouths had fed on them. She knew how he worked for his things, never engaging in dubious acts to procure them. And in all of these, and in that ingenious way he carried himself, she’d never sensed or seen in him that inordinate quest to plunder what belonged to others.

What disturbed her most and gave her days of sleeplessness, like tonight, was this drinking issue of his. His older brother, three years back, just a few weeks after she gave birth to Agnes, slumped and died unexpectedly. The same thing happened to his immediate cousin the previous year; who they said died in his sleep. No one gave a concrete reason as to what caused either death. But it wasn’t as though the answers weren’t obvious themselves; as both of them had prolonged drinking issues. And in some ways, it might have contributed to their untimely demise.

So as not to seem complacent to the issue, she’d tried making her husband see reasons as to why these deaths weren’t just accidental happenings. But each time she did she was confronted by an even hardened heart. For it seemed as if a veil was shielding him from seeing where the edifice of reasoning sat. And each attempt she made in uplifting that veil tended to prove more difficult than the previous attempt.

The power was restored eventually. The ceiling fan creaked and then sliced through the air. She sprang to her feet and raced to the kitchen to put on the refrigerator, but not until after she’d put off the kerosene lamp and tucked it into a safe corner. On her way back to the room, she branched to the children’s room, and on seeing how Joshua had single-handedly taken over the bed and turned his brothers to his pillows, she tapped him and then moved him to a corner of the bed. She fell onto the bed as soon as she entered her room. The bed squeaked, making Udeh stop snoring and turn on his side. She closed her eyes, but not long after she did, she heard the muezzin calling for prayers.

The sun the next morning was fierce. She knew she had overslept just from seeing the sun-rays flashing into the room. It was Saturday, a busy day, as busy Saturdays go in a typical income-

earning Nigerian home, and her’s was no different. She rolled out of bed and sauntered toward the living room. As she drew closer, her last child, Agnes, bumped into her. She picked her up, cuddled her, and glanced upwards to where the wall clock was hung. Seeing that it was nine a.m. already, she hissed and scrunched up her face.

‘Mummy, nolee. Good morning,’ Joshua and Matthew greeted, both stopping briefly to acknowledge her presence. They’d both been cleaning; Joshua was sweeping while Mathew was busy dusting the shelves and the cushion. She asked how their night had been and if they slept well. They both responded that they did.

‘Where is everyone?’ she asked afterward.

‘Jude and Emma have gone to open the shop,’ Joshua said.

‘And Gracie, where did she go?’

‘She’s gone to fetch water.’

‘And your father?’

‘I don’t know. He didn’t say where he was going.’ Joshua said, and continued his work, from where he’d left off.

She soughed. She wondered where he’d gone so early and why nobody had bothered to wake her up. For some obscure reasons, partly because she’d woken up late, she sensed that today would be one of those days where she’d rant and rant and pick out issues where none exist.

‘Come, Joshua, why didn’t anyone wake me up?’ she asked.

No response came from Joshua, but Emma made a discernible attempt to respond, but before he could, the door was pushed open from outside.

In view and front of her, was Gracie. The clothes she had on were all wet, completely soaked, and glued to her skin. Her eyes swam with tears and her brow was slanted upward, as though someone had pushed it up there.

Elakeche’s eyes darted towards her. She stood up from the green sofa backing the corridor, dropped Agnes back on the chair, and took impatient steps towards Gracie. She held her by the arm - the corner of her eyes crinkling - and then began flinging several questions at her.

‘Didn’t you go fetch water? Ayhi bei? Where is the water? Why are you wet? And why are you crying?’

The door was still left open, and the morning breeze darted into the living room, making the dirt that Joshua had swept and packed at a corner take off in all directions. Two flats away from theirs, Christie Essien Igbokwe’s Seun Rere filled the air and threatened to bring down the building, and within her, she cursed the occupants of the flat.

‘Talk to me Gracie,’ she both pleaded and commanded, worries forming a knot across her forehead.

With the back of her hand, Gracie dried her tears and the mucus running down her nostrils. Gritting her teeth, she said, ‘It’s Mama Rufai. She called dad a thief. Afterward, she broke my bucket and poured water on me.’

A shiver ran through Elakeche’s spine as those words came within the reach of her hearing. Heat rose from her stomach to her chest. For it was as if someone had stripped her naked and then poured cold water on her. She rarely acted on impulse, but sometimes, situations warranted that one does. And on that, she pulled Gracie by the arm - ordering both Joshua and Emma to stay indoors and look after their sister - and raced out of the house. She descended the stairs and was in front of Mama Rufai’s flat in seconds. She banged on the door furiously, and in minutes, a bonylooking woman with a breast sloped downward appeared.

‘What did you say to my daughter?’ she asked almost impatiently, stilling the anger wanting to tear

out of her body.

The bony-looking woman hissed, rested both hands on her waist, and stepped out to her front yard. Elakeche followed her closely behind, and for a minute, she thought of pushing her to the wall opposite them and grating her wide lips against the wall, like okra, and watching it fall bit by bit to the ground.

She asked her the question again, in a similar manner. The woman hissed again and hit her palms together. She tightened her jaw and said, ‘Isn’t it true? Is your husband not a thief? And that thing behind you, is she not the daughter of a thief?’

Colour drained out of Elakeche’s face. Mama Rufai’s words dissolved into her, leaving splintered galls to flow through her veins. Her feathers rose like a hen, provoked, and she wondered briefly which was worst: to be the wife of a thief(an allegation she knew her husband was innocent of) or to be the wife of a man who sticks his thing into the nearest hole he could find.

She knew the woman’s husband’s story quite well; how he goes about sleeping with prostitutes here and there, and even bringing them to his matrimonial home. She knew so much that if she began spilling them out right now both of them surely would leave this place with a broken rib. She wasn’t going to trade words with her. Certainly not with a woman who, months ago, came to her house to plead with Udeh to help her in begging her husband not to send her packing.

She could remember that day vividly, of how Mama Rufai had rushed into their living room minutes after she got back from the kiosk, and of how she fell to her knees and shed heavy tears, her worn out wrapper almost coming loose from her tiny waist, revealing a slightly bulgy belly button. Her words were urgent and persistent and they rushed furiously from her mouth like a faulty faucet.

Now, if Udeh wasn’t a man of integrity or if he happened to be a man of loosed reputation would she have trusted him to help her plead with her husband?

‘I’d assume you aren’t referring to me’ Elakeche said and drew her lower lip between her teeth.

‘It is you that I’m talking to jaree. Your husband, your children, all of you are thieves.’ Mama Rufai said, hitting her palms together more frantically than before. She sprinted towards where Elakeche stood and sized her up. She then said, ‘Yes, I said it. What will you do to me?’

In one swift motion, Elakeche smacked her on the face. The woman staggered backward as a result of the hit and remained there for a minute until she’d regained composure. She then started towards her again. And on getting to her, with one hand grabbing her by the waist and the other holding her leg, Elakeche propelled her through the air to the ground. Immediately, she sat astride her, grabbed a handful of sand, and then began forcing her mouth open to pour the soil into her mouth. She went on with this for minutes, unrelenting, insistent, until voices grew stronger and hands pulled her away from the woman.

‘Useless woman. Wife of a thief. Olee!’ Mama Rufai cursed her still, her eyes burning with rage.

Elakeche’s glared at her, and in front of her, she saw a woman desperately wanting to draw attention to herself. And she knew, without any ounce of doubt, that this was just one of the many confrontations she’d have to battle with for her husband’s honour.

Days had passed since the scuffle with Mama Rufai. She hasn’t run into her at all like she does every evening when returning home from the store. Business at the kiosk these past few days has also been slow, and she bled inward, not from what had happened days before, but from the bills piling up, waiting to be paid.

She’d been to her children’s school the previous morning. Lately, they’ve been threatened with being sent out from class if they didn’t get the required textbooks. So she’d gone there solely to plead with them to give her more time to raise the money. Next Monday, unfailingly, she’d promised. The teacher who spoke to her was skeptical and wary of her words, as she’d also received the same promises from other parents earlier that morning. Do I have your words, madam? The teacher had asked and looked at her in a slow, unblinking manner. Yes, you have my

words, she’d responded.

St. Finbarr’s College, where her sons attended, was one of the many schools in Yaba that still maintained that colonial tinge; she knew this just from seeing - as she left the school afterward how the lawns were carefully mowed and the large expanse of land which served as the football pitch, where the Principal Cup were held annually. It was both an all-boys and a catholic school, owned and managed by the church. But about twelve years ago, as she could recall, just at the time Emma had completed one, the Lagos state government took over the school as well as all mission schools in the state. It then became public and free through the government’s introduction of free education at all levels, and it was through this action that she was able to enroll her children in the school.

Now, as she sat on a plastic chair in her kiosk, she still couldn’t make sense of anything. Everything was happening so fast, faster than she could imagine, and sometimes she wondered if she was just an onlooker or a participant in the events occurring all around her. Up until now, she hasn’t had the time to talk with her husband about what was next as regards his suspension. Although he’d mentioned something about waiting it out when they’d spoken shortly before going to bed the previous night. She wasn’t certain about what prompted the talk; whether it was his advising her not to engage in street fights or his outright disapproval of Emma’s behaviour.

He’d heard about the fight with Mama Rufai. She knew he was going to and so she’d made no previous attempts to cover it up. When the news emptied itself before him, his demeanour went blank. He chewed on his bottom lips for minutes, and she knew from the way his jaw tightened, that he found it unacceptable. Why would she go out and make a nuisance of herself all in the name of defending his honour? he’d asked. Surely, if he was guilty of what they said he did, in no time, the truth will reveal itself. He then cautioned her not to bring herself that low by engaging in unscrupulous fights even if the yoke was heavy on her neck. Those women could be petty, he’d said and concluded the conversation.

‘So who are you going to vote for, my sister?’ Mama Nonso asked, walking up to where she sat and leaving her store unattended. ‘Abiola or that man from Kano? What’s his name again, yes, Bashir Tofa’

Elakeche hissed. ‘I’m not voting for anybody,’ she said and screwed up her face, as though the words had left her tongue sour.

‘Ahh ahh! Why?’ the woman asked and paused briefly. ‘It’s Abiola I’m voting for o. I heard he’s even going to be at TBS to campaign this Friday. I think I’d be there.’ she said and glanced sideways towards the direction of her store.

‘I don’t have that time to go and vote for anybody. They’d promise this and promise that, but at the end of the day it’s something different they’d do when they get in. What did Shehu Shagari do when he got into power? Tell me?’ she asked and hissed louder than before.

Mama Nonso laughed, her eyes widening. ‘If we all look at the past then I’m sure no one will ever go out to vote again. Abiola is a good man.’ the woman said.

Elakeche fixed her gaze on her briefly before they glanced upward to the sky. It was early afternoon, but the sky had turned gray. A sudden gust of wind blew through her face as she stood up, making the tail-end of her headscarf flap, and she could tell from this that it would rain soon or that it was already raining somewhere close by.

Could a life built on some else misery ever last? Elakeche kneaded and rolled that question over and over again upon the peripherals of her mind. Other than the irregular words exchanged between her and Udeh, she knew that they were still communicating even as silence had long settled amidst them. With their bodies, they were. And with their minds both dwelling on similar things, they still were. She could hear his occasional sighing, and she could tell that it was one of doubt and relief joined together.

The sun had gone down hours ago. The gentle wind that came along with the nightfall had also died out. In place, was darkness characterized by the intermittent chirping of crickets.

‘Jude, please bring the lantern,’ she called out, and just as she did, a figure appeared alongside a dimly lit lantern. The figure placed the lantern three feet away from where she and Udeh sat outside the porch of their flat and then vanished into the darkness behind them.

It was Sunday, two weeks after Udeh’s suspension from work. He’d been out all day but had arrived home just at the time she and the children had gotten home from an evening service organized by the church where they all attended. His face seemed warmer and a bit lighter when she’d spotted him. And at that moment, she knew that something was up somewhere, that something was different from what she’d felt and seen in him those days after his suspension.

‘I’ve been called back to work,’ he said, breaking the news to her.

Her mouth curved into a smile as she heard him say that. Her whole face lit up. That was it, she thought, that was it. She remained rather quiet, staring at him, trying to make sense of what he’d just told her. She knew better than to say anything to him at that moment or to ask him any questions as she knew he’d go on and give out more details to her.

‘It turned out that they later found the money in the possession of some of my colleagues. According to what my boss told me, they planned on sharing the money amongst themselves after the issue had faded out. But luck wasn’t on their side. One of them was not satisfied with the sharing formula, and from there, a dispute arose. The issue escalated and my boss got to know about it. Papa Rufai happens to be one of those men.’

Now, the corner of her mouth turned up. She raised a brow and then glared at Udeh, who in turn, also kept his eyes on her. There was no point in holding on to the past or the pains of yesterday. Eventually, the wind has blown and the anus of the fowl has been exposed. So what was there to grieve over or to be low-spirited about?

‘You will go to work tomorrow,’ she said and nodded briefly.

‘I’m not sure I will,’ Udeh said, still holding her gaze. ‘I was humiliated. I was called a thief. If it

wasn’t for God I probably would have been arrested. You don’t know what you are saying at all.’ he said and threw his face elsewhere, slightly getting pissed.

‘And me, wasn’t I humiliated as well? Wasn’t I called the wife of a thief? Didn’t my fellow woman rained insults on me?’ she asked, lifting an eyebrow.

Udeh sighed. His face contorted. ‘I know,’ he said, resting his left hand on her thigh. ‘And I don’t by any chance devalue or count the discomfort you suffered less than what I went through, but..’

‘No, but, please,’ she said, cutting him off. ‘I know exactly how you feel and I won’t blame you if you choose to carry the resentment for a while. But for now, you must go back to work tomorrow. A child who wants to fly must first learn how to walk. Thing will be much better someday.’

They sat and continued speaking long into the night. They would talk about the prospect of him changing for good and discarding that distasteful lifestyle of drinking too much and losing his senses along the way. He’d promise that he will, that he will change for her and the children. She’d oppose this and tell him that he should change for himself only. He’d nod and then say yes. She’d look at him and smile. She’d move closer to him and rest her head on his shoulders. They’d stay that way for minutes, and after the minutes had elapsed, she’d rise to her feet, pick up her stool, and then saunter into the house.

EXIT RAMPS by Nancy Machlis Rechtman

There are times I long to say things That make it impossible to swallow Because their truths Put me at risk Of baring my true self And exposing my heart to more pain And I don’t know If there is any part of me left That can handle all of that hurt Anymore.

So I make sure there’s a secure place To backpedal And find the exit ramp Detouring away from what I wanted to say To a safer location In case what’s true Is too much And the response might be too hurtful For me to bear So I need to confirm there’s an emergency exit Before the tread marks appear across my open scars.

Would you like to… But only if you feel like it. Do you think we should… But it’s OK if you don’t. I’d love for us to… But I understand if you don’t want to.

And I wouldn’t even think of taking a chance in the first place If I didn’t check that there were nearby offramps Where I could safely hop off the freeway And find I had made it Without even a scratch Or a dent But also aware

That I’m so weary of always driving with cruise control on In the lane Where life will never change If I stay silent And time is running out.

MIRROR IMAGE by Nancy Machlis Rechtman

She stopped before the mirror in the hall Relentlessly examining her reflection And shuddered.

For most of her life She had tried not to buy into the mantra That perfection was happiness And the only currency That could increase your self-worth Because when she was younger The flaws didn’t define her And she knew that her slightly gap-toothed grin And the freckles sprinkled across her nose Made her appear more interesting Or at least, that’s what she had always been told And in spite of her imperfections There had never been a shortage of men Who seduced her with words she needed to hear Like oxygen As they sipped their wine in candle-lit restaurants And later When their bodies were wrapped around each other In the dark.

But as the years passed She noticed That her flaws had become less endearing And more of a distraction.

And then one day she met a man Who said all the right things And made her feel beautiful In spite of it all And she took a breath for the first time in a long while Letting her guard down And she finally looked away from the mirror. But soon she realized He was no longer looking at her That his eyes were going right past her And right through her At the women right behind her And she understood she had mistaken lust

For love And she walked out the door without turning back Attempting to find her equilibrium And convince herself That there had never been anything there after all Just a breeze blowing through the open screens on the back porch Banging the shutters a few times Before it disappeared.

But now that more time had passed She recognized that there weren’t as many men Whose eyes lit up when they saw her As there had once been. But because she continued to believe That she could still find love She began to pay more attention To the societal messages That engulfed her, screaming That in order to be desirable She had to be perfect In every aspect of her life Yet as the men around her grew older They had no such requirements Since they were looked upon as the wine that aged smoothly But women were considered to be the milk That spoiled over time.

So she had become invisible Except to the mirror And no matter how much she strived for perfection She was vanishing from everyone’s radar.

She yearned for a man who could see beyond Her imperfections Who could look into her eyes And see her soul Which was still young and beautiful And she stared once more into the mirror Searching for answers Trying to see what other people saw when they looked at her And she let out a guttural cry As her hand suddenly shot out And grabbed the frame around the mirror And slammed it onto the marble floor. She watched it shatter into a million glittering shards

Forming a disorienting puzzle of who she was as she looked down And she ground her heel into as many pieces as she could Before she turned and walked away.

(I CRIED FOR YOU) IN THE RAIN by Laura Rockhold

for Billie Holiday

it’s just before dusk the rain comes and goes leaving mottled pastels of sky on pavement the walking man and his lover or friend stroll by the muted glow of our lamppost Billie Holiday confesses through the turntable in much the same mood and tempo as the blue and white striped umbrella she’s twirling at her side giving away her lightness

ONE STORY HIGH by Laura Rockhold

rainwater collects inside a worn tire swing hung plumb on an arm on an old oak tree not far from a garden wilding with zinnia and crisp green beans and carrot tops fountained in sun glistening with ice-cold hose water sprayed by a child who plays in the shade of a lilac hedge one story high one by one she picks its flowers and sips their cool sweet air from delicate tubes of pale violet and white to the tip of her awakening tongue

FIBONACCI EXPLAINS WHY YOU ARE NOT HERE by LeAnne Hunt

Cerebellum, a muted bell tolling silence.

Cerebral hemispheres, a blank map.

Brainstem to a half-grown rose deadheaded by chromosomes, a missed connection.

Little boy, cup of a skull half full drunk by a mother, heart and womb half empty. Anencephaly leaves an opening to empty sky.

Occipital lobe at the back of the head— children mirror what they see. We see everything in reverse. Eyes, yes, heartbeat yes, but empty crown above a little king’s eyes closed for a ghost mother.

Absence reigns supreme. Half a mother carries half a child half a term. But there was a heartbeat, a clock that stopped at birth. And there was a birth, and there was crying, loud, though not the child’s. A baby was weighed, cleaned, swaddled and cradled. First born and only son was given and taken with a half smile upon his half face for his mother half alive.

GASLIT by LeAnne Hunt

He said it was all in my head. The lights flickered behind my eyelids. His words swallowed my throat.

He flickered behind my eyelids. The lights swallowed my throat. His words said it was all in my head.

He swallowed my throat. The lights said it was all in my head. His words flickered behind my eyelids.

He said his words in my head. My throat swallowed my eyelids. Behind the lights, it was all flickered.

Behind the flickered lights, he swallowed my eyelids, said his throat was my words, my head, all in it.

My throat said his words swallowed in it. My head was all the lights he flickered behind my eyelids.

He was the words said, throat swallowed, head flickered, eyelids, lights, it, in, all, my, my, my,

His.