I think what matters is what is not inside. I stretch my body every day for the things I never had and the things I want to have and know. I am walking backward from things. I am walking backward into things. It’s the way I see what I never paid attention to. It’s the way I surrender to possible timelines.
The dentist is unfixing my teeth, the denture is claws to the unchewed.
My mother says no to my conception. What would I have been? A small map on a sheet? A collection in a tube? The unwanted or the abandoned?
I know my father. Here, I only know my father. But I do not know if he is actually my father. Every night, he nails his head into his room wall: tiny, tiny crimson to the past I do not familiar.
On the playground, my playmate refuses to push me to the ground.
My aunt bathes me and doesn’t fondle my penis. She kisses me on the forehead and tells me goodnight stories.
The school teacher blocks her ears with earphones; her cup of coffee trips and empties on my exam sheet. I skip school. I crack on the street. I miss exams. I’ll never pass high school, I’ll never see where the water farewells the land. I’ll never become a poet.
The dentist is fixing my teeth, the denture is truth and true to the unchewed.
My mother says yes to my conception. What will I become? A poet? A governor? An alchemist? The owner of a country?
I know my father. And I also know my mother. They hold me by hands in the picture sitting on the wall. Every night, they tell me that the world is vast enough for the glory of flowers basking in the field.
On the playground, my playmate pushes me to the ground, my skin tears open for the sunlight garnering tears.
My aunt bathes me and fondles my penis. She doesn’t kiss me on the forehead and doesn’t tell me goodnight stories.
The school teacher doesn’t block her ears with earphones; her smile is as sweet as the last drop of honey from its bottle. She knows by right the pedagogy of not banking knowledge. I pass high school; I see where the water farewells the land.
I am a poet.
Here it is bio: Chinua Ezenwa-Ohaeto (@ChinuaEzenwa) is human who doesn't use A.I to write poetry. His works have appeared in Isele Magazine, AFREADA, Poet Lore, Massachusetts Review, Frontier, Palette, Malahat Review, The Common, Southword Magazine, Vallum, Mud Season Review, Salamander, Notra Dame, Anmly, Up the Staircase Quarterly, Spectacle Magazine, Ruminate and elsewhere.