by Muiz Àjàyí
i never intended to be philosophical. when you watch
a man lose his breath, faith turns skeletal. in the end,
a bone is just a bone, not a metaphor for ache.
the heart, a pack of pulsing nerves, doubling
as an ache-measuring mechanism. on one of such days
when my ache was most acute & i walked the dark
road linking the campus cemetery to the botanical garden,
i mused the irony of it—the flower & the dead’s oath
of proximity. on the sidewalk, a boy is skinning two white
rabbits over a furnace. i think of the armoury of words
debate on animal slaughter, but my mouth waters still
at the smell of coney on grille. i pull out my notepad
to write a poem. when you watch a man lose
his breath, faith becomes skeletal. when you watch
a bunny lose its fur, its fate turns skeletal. on second
thoughts, i tear out the sheet, throw it in the flames.
