By Ement Amaku
The cycle turns and turns like tumbleweeds
blown by a whirlwind.
Today, I went out and saw little boys playing. Every day,
I wake up and hear vehicles honking like
They are saying, “What the hell are you still waiting for?!”
For a child to start walking it needs to know the way —
So I just sit and wait for someone or something kind enough to come get me —
I should have mastered this place:
the way I got in; landmarks; something to lead me on or out.
(Everything that once lead me on has turned to Laburnum)
But sometimes, I worry. I worry that there’s no time left
in the real world
Yet I keep navigating all these same roadblocks
— with the numbers of the days remaining the same —and
one day lost.
So, every night when my mom and I sit and pray — I just sit and say nothing
And when she says, “Amen!”
I lie down and realise that the day is over.
I close my eyes in sleep, waiting for vehicles to honk so that I can wake up and do it all again.
Ement Amaku is the author of the poem, “Nigeruins” published in Brittle Paper.