a found poem
at my grandmother’s house sits a shrine to our ancestors every morning, my grandmother kneels & prays she closes her eyes & hums tunelessly, lighting sticks of incense the air fills with their heady scent i don’t know what she asks our ancestors for, but since she began this daily ritual, there has been a change in her— she— a harvest moon carving its boon alongside a pearled sky & whenever i visit home for Tet or our ancestor’s death anniversary, i kneel and pray too i hold the incense & close my eyes, & for a few moments i am weightless
To read this and more work by Taiye, order the drr issue of Ritual here.
Ojo Taiye is a young Nigerian uses poetry as a handy to write his frustration with society.
