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We’ve learned how to die. Each. In a unique splendor. Like, my father who died walking with his head down and legs up. His face was blood stained and smiling. He must have thought himself funny. Boom. That was the sound of the American certified polished pistol he got from only God knows where. It must be that. The whole room laughed. He died almost the way he came. The new trend. My brother died at the age of three. He played with his mates outside for long and then cried, passed out a hot piss and fell with his face hitting the ground. My sister who was married a year ago, took in. We drank Hennessy and Champagne. She walked down to the labor room jugging on her hands and cussing her paternal grandmother for leaving the world before her birth. Push. She screamed: is it coming? And died hoping to have a boy. Mother, is far gone from the scene. She’s gonna smoke all up packets of Amsterdam. Drink liquor to stupor. She can’t breathe no more. Sure. She will bury herself. She always did. We’ve learned how to die. Each. In a unique splendor. Like, me as I am. I will look through the window. Call at an owl’s house, say hello and sleep.

******

About the Author:

Portrait - ArinzechukwuAkpa Arinzechukwu is a Nigerian born photographer and poet. His works have appeared or will feature on Eastlit, Kalahari Review, Poetry life and Times, and elsewhere.

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I hold a doctorate in English from Duke University and recently joined the Marquette University English faculty as an Assistant Professor. I love teaching African fiction and contemporary British novels. Brittle Paper is the virtual space/station where I play and experiment with ideas on how to reinvent African fiction and literary culture.

11 Responses to “Learning How To Die | by Akpa Arinzechukwu | African Poetry” Subscribe

  1. Uzodinma Okpechi 2016/07/01 at 03:18 #

    Ainehi, glad to be here. Am loving it.
    Uzodinma, filmmaker.

  2. chinenye 2016/07/01 at 03:40 #

    Wowing n deep

  3. Arua victor 2016/07/03 at 08:20 #

    Am mind blown

  4. Kingsley 2016/07/03 at 09:14 #

    A Pathetic piece

  5. Joan 2016/07/03 at 14:07 #

    Great poem though pitiful, Arinzechukwu keep up the good work

  6. Amos Onyinye 2016/07/03 at 16:11 #

    You captured the old n what will never be old…the world from the then till the now…nice piece

  7. Alonso Ruubio 2016/07/04 at 02:13 #

    thats a good poem , life is a precious thing that everybody will like to have it forever but we must learn and recognize we are going to face our ends at different ways

  8. Ujugina 2016/07/04 at 03:43 #

    U are wonderful my dear keep it up,d lord will on strengthening u

  9. Ujugina 2016/07/04 at 03:55 #

    U are wonderful my dear keep it up,d lord will keep on strengthening u

  10. Amaka Anozie 2016/07/04 at 11:43 #

    Yes sir. You and I will die, one day, some day.
    No sir. We learn to die by living well.

  11. Yusuf maikobi 2016/07/04 at 16:05 #

    Wow! Nice one bro, really a nice piece! Keep up the good work

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I hold a doctorate in English from Duke University and recently joined the Marquette University English faculty as an Assistant Professor. I love teaching African fiction and contemporary British novels. Brittle Paper is the virtual space/station where I play and experiment with ideas on how to reinvent African fiction and literary culture.

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