There are times
when my tongue’s wrung of words
folded upon itself in silence.
Listening.
Just listening to the caught breaths
in her praises
the low dips in the
“I’m good”
the slight pause
as she pushes the conversation
along. Beyond silence.
It’s too still,
and stillness stirs emotions
thorny and jagged
nip at the ribs
dares tears not to fall
and slip
against the crevice of her cheeks.
So I wait,
tongue caught
arms outstretched
my line crackly
fingers reaching for her face
to wipe the tears
that fall and slip
against the crevice of her cheek.
‘She is okay’
my heart says:
She will be.

© LaYinka Sanni, May 2015

Dedicated to my dear friend, Na’ima B Robert.

Photo credit: Téléphone à cadran (heu ?) via photopin (license)

 

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