- Unseen Ancestors
Not many remain in their graves as we would expect of the dead:Some wander out of their pits. Or, if buried beneath a sacred stone. Burst out of their sepulchers and roam the streets at the dark hours of the early morning.No rotten corpses here. Or, flesh-eating monsters return from the dead. Just quiet spirits, alive in the belly of the wind, whistling their old songs when it is howling:At times telling us stories about themselves: Especially, when we've forgotten tales of our birth.The wind against my window has stiffened: I know my grandfather is in the kitchen sniffing for meat in the pot of soup…The lid is rattling: He likes the aroma…Now the howling is intense: The pot is tittering on the stove…I go into the kitchen. Remove the meat. Sever it in two. And leave a bowl of cold water beside it. [End Page 147]
Abayomi Animashaun's poems have also appeared in Drunken Boat, Obsidian III, Southern Indiana Review, and several other journals.