Collision
Previously published in Ngiga Review.
"If an injury has to be done to a man it should be so severe that his vengeance need not be feared."
~ Niccolo Machiavelli.
the evenings in Abuja are soft
like okpa from Enugu—
the ones made by Igbo women at the park;
their wrappers falling off their chests
as they swat flies,
make sales and gossip
sometimes I find myself staring at someone's legs for so long; it takes a touch to remind me of where I am: Abuja.
the evenings are golden.
lights from the million dollar high-rise buildings
laughter from people returning
from a day spent sitting in pretty, air-conditioned rooms
looking at projectors
& watching their colleagues from behind a laptop screen
the smell of food:
banana and groundnut at motor parks,
rice and stew in homes,
egusi soup and goat meat in restaurants—
petrichor in the air
always petrichor
It's easy to forget, for a minute, that you're alive
that you'll wake up tomorrow and not be at home
that you'll work tomorrow and come back to a empty house
that you need to dial a number,
to reach the home you've known your whole life
at this moment you feel a disconnect from stress
a reconnect with the universe:
the vast, seeming beauty that exists in the world
Tonight you'll probably cry to sleep
nostalgia for home permeating your nostrils
but at this moment, you can't think
only feel
only marvel
the sky, open, calling you
it's beauty, breathtaking
At this moment you're powerless to fight nature
to fight the sadness that will keep you at night
to think of the prescription from your psychiatrist
sitting prettily in your bag
at this moment it’s you;
the universe;
nature;
and beauty,
all colliding to form an injury you’ll never heal from
