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  • Home
  • About
    • About Us
    • Contributors
    • Support Us
  • Submit
  • Current Issue
  • Archive
    • Volume I >
      • Issue I
      • Issue II
      • Issue III
      • Issue IV
    • Volume II >
      • Issue I
      • Issue II
      • Issue III
      • Issue IV
    • Volume III >
      • Issue I
      • Issue II
      • Issue III
      • Issue IV
    • Volume IV >
      • Issue I
      • Issue II
      • Issue III
      • Issue IV
    • Volume V >
      • Issue I
      • Issue II
      • Issue III
      • Issue IV
    • Volume VI >
      • Issue I
      • Issue II

Of Thorns & Flowers

by Olaitan Humble
I presented myself to you in a
blue-brown ribbon taped with
an inscription from my father's
grave:
       "Je t'aime"
the only French statement I know.
 
I was only eight when father kicked
the bucket, when he swallowed the
candies the Grim Reaper served him.
 
We—my mother & I—were there
bearing witness to his smiles
in between gulps from the water
of life, or so we thought.
 
I built a brewery on his grave.
Every time he takes a step further into the
darkness, I draw him back with
a bottle of Hennessey / with the scorn               
of a bathtub gin served on sunny
days.
 
Father's dying words were:
       remember my admonitions &
       safeguard the petals under your garment.
 
I used to be a home to many petals but
when life happens / promises become
       like debris of a fire outbreak
       like wreckage of a sank ship
       like carcass of a dead animal
& when you happened / you crushed my petals
& called it love
& called me your first but I made me your last--
       It took just a bottle of cyanide.

Olaitan Humble is a Pushcart-nominated writer of African heritage. He is an aviphile and pacifist who enjoys reading satire, and collecting quotations and astrophotos. His work appears in CP Quarterly, The African Writers Review, Luna Luna Magazine, Nymphs, AGNG, Ninshar Arts, and Doubleback Review, among others.