I want to build a poem I live in
without grappling for air. tonight,
I know what the dream looks like. I am
under water but my lungs do not die. I can breathe
like Jonah in the fishes’ belly and
now I believe in miracles.
When the soil has found you a rebel, shut you out,
a poem without windows. and doors but enough air should be a refuge.
A shelter from sand storms. This is
why I build this poem with stable hands.
Mother’s voice is behind me calling for pepper. I do not move.
Living is a puzzle and I like fixing them in how breathe does not become a commodity only for the rich.
I need stable hands.
Father’s voice is beside me asking for salt. I do not move.
Do you think a poem is an easy thing.
This adventure lays you flat on your broken back and seeks from you your front teeth.
Your mouth must become a weapon and I
am not fond of cutting with open lips.
Suppose sister chances on me and she becomes a casualty.
How do you live with yourself when what must let food in is now a machete?
If my mouth must cut, may it be balm
also – minted, burning because this is healing.
When I come up from this water, it is never for air.
It is to see how the world lived without me, how the soil budded without the seed.
I want to build a poem that lives on
under the ocean and does not need to float to survive
When I build a poem.
I’m back with a poem. And I also want to know; what are some of the reasons you write, even if it’s just Journaling?
© Awo Twumwaah 2019.
Afua Awo Twumwa 