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a place called home | Joseph Akinnawonu

a place called home | Joseph Akinnawonu

a place called home

at yaba
there’s a part of you loitering on every streets,
in stranger’s houses,
on the faces of everyone you meet

there’s the granny’s box filled with
needles, buttons, lapel,
and a patch of your mother’s grief neatly woven
kolanuts scattered on a deathbed that has more tales than termite

at Harvey
an ambulance with body bags often drags silence into wailing
a waiting room filled with ceaseless prayers
an emergency room waiting for another death notice
this place mentions itself on everything you own

this is the place you call home
where a mother’s pain is
morphed into laughter
morphed into words
morphed into poetry
the first place you learnt the miracle of surviving

there’s a white Jesus at Marda Barracks
a white Mary praying for the sinning thing you’ve become
an old house filled with sculptures, artifacts, images,
and the things you’re trying to forget
here, no Amen can save you from your trauma

everything is a trigger bell to something or someone special:
your dad’s grave stone
your first rape scene
a neuropsychiatric ward
a disorder naming you

and just before Herbert Macaulay
there’s enough laughter and sadness
to share      


Joseph Akinnawonu Agbowo Art African Literary Art

Joseph Akinnawonu

Joseph Akinnawonu is a graduate of Obafemi Awolowo University Ile-Ife, who writes from Lagos traffic, and hopes one day can have the title poet. His works have featured in various art magazines and online platforms. Once in a while he tweets @mayoakins 

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