By Toyosi Salami
every year I gather all my failures,
drill a hole into the earth in my backyard
and disappear into the ground. sometimes I may leave a chain on the ground surface
so that I may be mistaken for a full god and pulled out,
sometimes I don’t care to.
people with half ichor half blood running through their leathery skin
do not fear death by any means because it will not come.
at the end of the day, death is one of us.
I am writing this to tell the world that in another universe, people like me are immortal.
in this one sadly, my failures are amplified, they are given more names than necessary
the disrespect makes me click my tongue.
mortals usually do not appreciate good things until they’re gone
they do not revere gods until they have drowned themselves.
my mother is also a mortal. however she is one of the scarce wise ones,
of course, that is why my father chose her, alongside her beauty and succulent bosoms.
I know this because I have once been two halves, one half of me was inside my father
and the other was inside her.
she sympathises with me and tells me she knows the name of my pain
she brings me ambrosia and rubs my head, smiles, and says
i know this will make you well again, eat
tiredness is very different from hunger.