River Ordeals was previously published in Ta Adesa.
After Fadairo tesleem
How can I paint the picture of a grief? The pictures
in my brain are crystals, clear like limpid streams of
water: I slouched at the bank bird-dogged my father’s
feet tarried on the stones in his damp shirt. He proffered
his hand as if to wring me from death. I toed on a granite,
affrighted my legs nudging the water. His body, a tide,
billowed in the summer wind. His hand detached from
mine; another way of obeying law of gravity. His body
drenched by water. I squealed to the air, but that saved
nothing not even his a soul. I was too young to lost another
deluxe thing again like màámí1. Again, I pressed the loudest
key in my voice box, yet his legs & torso beneath the river.
His hands squirmed in the air & water dribbled down his
mouth. I scuttled for help but the river had guzzled my father’s
body, heisted his soul & retched him two days dead. Nature
make an orifice for grief to bedraggle us like how rain soused
the land. How will I express the redemption that touches my
heart & left an elephantine load—too heavy to lift? I stood
at the bank last night awaiting the river to return my father’s
soul. How would that be possible, when the water there
yesterday is not the same there today? Here I am, snuffing
my father’s body in every water I am to pour in my throat.
