by David Ishaya Osu

December

There were seven empty pews
and a frail-looking piano

(would i know if it had been touched)

one bulb and one door
brown walls, gray floor

(would i know if I have been red)

many holes look at me
two windows and the old moon

(would I want to sleep or want cookies)

is it the map or the place or me?

***

Kent

Kent sounds like a variation of can’t but it is not
it is called the garden of England for many reasons

—memories of sugarcane juice, memories of pale red—

it is hard not to use your brolly for other purposes
color, childhood, cream, outdoors, raptors, yours

—spring songs, colorful headstones, slow lilies, friendly—

I will not forget a couple I met kissing in the woods
they made me forget where I was going and what I was

—I long to be alone but it never happens, sunflowers last—

perhaps those lakes are dreams waiting for you and me
perhaps we will stop to remember dead flowers and dead ants

***

Eleven eleven

A
changing rooms
changing clothes
changing lives

the hotel attendant
said, they are all
the same thing

B
minds and mirror
the window, the flower
today is intimate

a gaze, once
a stair, twice
a lover, thrice

C
living with crates
cross-kissing, cross-sleeping
adorn shadows, everyone

everyone is wearing a hat
everyone is seeing the light
every door is ideal

Photo by Julien Christ on Unsplash