before this longing broke into our life
like harmattan breaking its way into a malnourished body,
i’ve always sat at the sea, & watched my paper boat as it
sails away from home; till it soaks, then fades away.

suppose i call home noose — say it snuffs the life out
of us — or say home is the midwife aborting our dreams.
yesterday, in a facebook chat, a friend says home is a sad place
to live & die, so he sails amerika.
today, in another chat, Pa calls home a vase crime scene.
say it’s an open wound that reminds us of collective grief

down here, children of god wan japa.
the heat is treacherous; the sun, scorching
so we open ourselves to the sea.
maami said father once longed for the sea too.
he swam through sorrow, till his body soaks, then fades away
to a better home; home is everywhere; home is God

now, i sit at the seaside with my paper boat,
nursing this bond created from old wounds, because
for this japa waka, i carry big dreams from home, placed it on my
paper boat, & watch it sail.











Photo by Bruno Kelzer on Unsplash