the summer my dad fell like a spring
I was the yellow confusion at a jigsaw
I remember my smiles were numbered
I could count happiness, my tears were
liquid, uncountable things. My brain was
in a constant—those annoying ads that pop
up during video games. and my eyes were
clay, his falling baked the way I saw things
last august, there was a parabellum in the sky
not the silvery blue marsh of softness and calm
an arrow pierced my eye, my secret love for
dark things fulfilled by a negligent cupid
in this vacuum I retrospect space in connection
to springs and how his falling would have been
a stiff pause in mid-air while I catch my breath
ferrying him down like loose paper.
Ebuka Evans is a 21-year-old male writer from Nigeria, currently pursuing a B.A. in English and Literature at the University of Nigeria. His writing touches on the deep happenings of life, depression and death mostly. His works appear or are forthcoming on NantyGreens, Our Life Logs, Ngiga Review, Rigorous, and elsewhere.
