I want to go home, but home is
the mouth of a Shark— Warsan Shire.
Mother, it’s not my fault that I’m not coming home this
Christmas or the next. Blame the claws of the memories
That pricks me when I visit. It’s not obstinacy that I decide
not to show my face for now. The listlessness that deluges
Me deflates the balloon of gaiety. I know the longing in your voice
yearns to see me one more time after a row of months. You may not be
So familiar with these memories but deep within me, I wrestle with
them. How do I outflank the thing that pricks me unendingly? Here,
My roommate begs me to see your face, to frolic with everyone again
but how do I tell him that home is father’s ghost I see all the time
In my dream, that the people around are deceptive colours in which the
brunt of their aura stifles me. I long to be home but home is the teeth of
A cheetah; a sweat of memories emerging from the sheet. Home brings a
sack of worries. Home drills a deep hole in my skin. Home fades me till
I’m looking like a washed painting. Mother, I’m sorry I should be home with
you & I’m sorry I’m not there.
Emmanuel Ojeikhodion writes from Benin, Nigeria where he’s currently reading for a B.A (hons) in English and Literature. He typically writes about the dark. When he isn’t writing, he prefers listening to Blues & parading the street of Twitter reading stuffs. He’s been published in Rigorous, The Augment Review, Capsule Stories, New Horizon Creatives, The Rising Phoenix Review, Pangolin Review, Ninshar Arts, African Writer & elsewhere. His micro-chap A Loss in September is forthcoming in Ghost City Press (Summer Series 2021). Say hello on Twitter @hermynuel.
