Memoir
18, looking forward to 23
toys scattered on peeling paint
beneath the bed, beside the ivory vase
that once overlooked a shoreline in Ita-Osa.
Children tucked their skin into the sand,
sunbathing,
as playful waves made love
to their innocuous bodies.
They giggled,
whispered secrets into the sea’s ear.
She watched through a single opening,
peering out at the iridescent coast,
legs clutched to her doll,
jelly recoiling down her beaded neck.
She had learned to draw,
to bring her limbs alive in paint,
to swing memory like a locket
down the path to her future.
She will wait there with the boys,
smiling,
waving,
as they depart for a bloodless war,
armed only with sarcasm
hidden in their bellies,
and a fairy tooth
in a gold bag that fits loosely
on her chest.
It is time again
to write another chapter at the window,
her head opening its shelves
for the incoming train.
– Fortune Omosola
