Song
by Ameen Animashaun
The world has gone mad
and I’m down
on my knees again.
To be a good son
is to be as careful
as a sentence. I can’t be
tame with my hunger.
Won’t be tamed
by the invisible hands
of our god.
Sometimes, suffering
is just suffering. The more
these hands change,
the more they remain
the same. In a house
burning cold, our god
cracked a joke
and grinded our ribs
into laughter.
You, and me, and
our bloodied mouths.
I am aware that my tongue
is a blade that cuts
everything but you.
On a long walk in the middle
of nowhere, you asked
when we’ll be something else
outside of a promise.
The problem with memory
is the same problem with grief.
This is not an accident.
The story is as long
as the memory of whoever
is telling it.
Wherever you are now,
I hope your body remembers
its history.
I hope your god has asked
for your mercy,
and I hope you have refused
to forgive him.