If your story starts with silence and you become as heavy
as the hollow inside a snail shell, then you can be me,
perched on a fence with only two cents of hope for the hereafter.
The music is still playing but our bodies are tired of swaying.
We plug our feet into our shoes to please
the wind outside but
the street is fat with hungry boys with tired bodies.
We have never seen
the world shedding its skin, losing its color.
We unplug ourselves from our
shoes and our playgrounds patter curses on us. We sink
the leftover of what fear has taken for a morsel of food into
this box that looks like home.
Our faces take the shape of a frown. The world is
changing and we are singing anarchy to the sun.
The street is dying in silence and no boy wants
to shed his skin
to save it. The DJ is still playing our favorite
song over the radio
but my brother and I are tired of swaying. We
have never seen the world
shedding off its skin, losing its color, and becoming an orphan,
just like every other child trapped
in their boxes like home
Miracle Isowanmwen is an alumni of the department of English and Literature, University of Benin.
