FINDING REASONS

For a body gone wrong

 

How do you rebuild a broken cathedral?

Do not make a fool of me with tales

of healing and hope and heaven

 

for home does not taste the same

once chipped like granny’s china

bearing curses to ends and beginnings.

 

Mother says, ‘say a prayer son’. I open

my mouth and my words run into heads

and lips and hands burning brisk and brief

 

places meant for holy. Joy is a quickie

cumming and going in her seasons and

Father is an eternity, going and coming;

 

a little boy searching for rainbows’ end.

Mother says ‘Man must be patient. Man

must wait’. Each time I try to spell Man,

 

I fall into father’s fetters, and awake

covered in my lover’s blood. How does one

sing his own dirge- a mocked mother spills

 

into an ember of questions? Freedom is a chaff

the wind blows away, yet this temple remains

a body of wrongs, a work of art. I am enough.

 

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Instagram:     @wisdomotikor

 

Biography

 

Wisdom Nemi Otikor believes that writing is therapeutic and sees poetry as a course to healing.

 

He is from the Niger Delta region of Nigeria. He still believes in love and happily ever afters- he strives daily to create his. Home to him is firstly Mom and his two younger brothers, other things can follow.

 

He is a bubble of laughter in a city of God.

 

 

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