We Are Sitting Around Discussing Our Shame
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but I choose to talk about silence, and the air is still a metronomeof nods. We’ve already heard from half of the room
and I am the only one dry—this is all anyone can handle of me:my unjudgmental eyes and half-honesty.
It comes around to you and everyone else turns a downward gaze,but I make myself meet each glance. Your voice is a scuffed suede
that reminds me of being eight and playing Oregon Trailwith my godsister on my lap, both of us still
in our Sunday dresses. You are sharing a story I know,but what I watch for is the familiar curve your chin follows,
the slight stumpiness of your fingers, their relaxed bendout of sync with the anxious way you wave your hands.
When I see you later, heavy-lidded and drained,I tell you how much you look like a friend—
What I mean to say is:
she was only two and it was my handup her pretty ruffled skirt the first time
she learned to say no. [End Page 318]
Ife-Chudeni A. Oputa is currently pursuing an MFA in poetry and an MA in African American and African Diaspora Studies at Indiana University, Bloomington. She is a Cave Canem Fellow who has also attended the Callaloo Creative Writing Workshop. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in [PANK] online, Muzzle, and Kinfolks Quarterly. She is a native of Fresno, CA.
