No one gives a damn about a poem until they need a poem — Omotara James. No one writes a poem because they want to. But sooner or later, the poem finds you or you find it. My father was a forest of fire. His teeth snagged the tail of the wind. This is a metaphor. All metaphors are disguised wounds that want to live. A wound is a crime my father won’t confess. When I was a child, a fire the length of my father’s tongue razed the bones of my chest. A poem is an act of resistance against death. A poem is a clenched fist raised against your father. I was a wound. I wanted to live. So when at last I met a poem, I ran. Feet thrashing the air, I ran, and the poem ran to meet me. *Writing this poem was a humbling experience. I struggled so hard and I'm still not yet satisfied 😶🌫️
