The African in diaspora never truly traveled.
He has a back door that stays
open and never shut,
with a black rope running through it.

Each time a phone call comes
from back home,
it tugs and tugs until
it gets a response
it never stops.

There’s a window that stays
open and never shut.
through it, a bird brings
news of Mama’s health along
with the bills too.

There’s an invisible black list
filled with requests
receipts and reports, he
reads it every time.

Yes,
he did change telephone numbers, change address, but I dare say, nothing changed. Home is somewhat in his backyard. He carries it around in his back pocket. He’s thinking about it at work, when on break, until he breaks into a dance… Home waits for him in his unread whatsapp messages.

The African in diaspora
never truly traveled.

He eats with one hand
and holds the black rope.
A bit further from his throat.

 

 

 

 

 

Photo by Burak Argun from Pexels