April Funerals
02 May 2016
WARDLEY D BARRY-IGIVISA
An entry in the 2016 Crocodile Prize
In memory of those who left us in the month of April
The smell of death in April,
like the fragrance of a passing virgin
that interrupts our peace,
and steals our innocence,
taking our breath
a w a y
leaving us running after
its absence, groping for its whiff,
making us painfully aware
of the absence in ourselves
— of some part of ourselves.
The things we shall remember of April:
our treaty with silence;
the words that d a n g
l
e
like dry leaves in the air;
the pink rose that refused to bloom;
the unfinished billum on the mat;
the rainbow that lost its colours
in the clouds above our home;
our songs that’s gone sour on our lips . . .
making us painfully aware
of the absence in ourselves
— of some part of ourselves.
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