Kaka said a small pine tree sprouted from
the interment of her father.
The tree broke through the thin concrete
atop the front-door grave,
life from death.
Kaka said at night, when the small generator
coughs to a stop,
she hears the whistling of the pine,
the way it pierces the newborn silence,
reminding her of the shrill cries of her father
that better forgotten night.
It’s only more rhythmic, she says,
as though death were a metronome.
Kaka said she always plays along,
sometimes on a guitar,
sometimes on a flute,
and swears that when she dies
she will return as a song.
Post image by rabiem22 via Flickr.
About the Author:
Moyosore Orimoloye is a poet from Akure, Nigeria, who has had his work published in The Ilanot Review, The Rising Phoenix Review, The Kalahari Review and The Best New African Poets 2015 anthology. His poem, “Love Is a Plot Device and Your Insecticide Is Not,” co-won the Babishai Niwe Poetry Award in August 2016. He is currently an Intern Pharmacist at the Neuropsychiatric Hospital, Aro, Abeokuta. He tweets from @MoyoOrims.
COMMENTS ( 4 ) -
OlaNiran March 10, 2017 02:27
Excellent poem. Has a very strong imagery.
Simzah March 09, 2017 03:27
wow. This almost drew tears from my eyes. I love it!
Gbolahan March 07, 2017 08:11
Mercy-Williams March 07, 2017 02:48
Beautiful poem!... I love it