By Jeremy T. Karn
“Now these are the names of the children of Israel, which came into Egypt; Emmanuel, & the 100,000 refugees”……...
…. & our country wanted a change of name. Some of the years on the calendar were counted on my mother’s fingers.
Few of the men that went – returned home to die properly after trying.
In Monrovia we discussed people’s death before they die.
After all we believe in death / death / migration / & nothing else
The sea rolls & foams out / of Coca-Cola bottles whenever someone dies.
Ten years ago;
My father is standing somewhere in Accra near a call booth;
pretending to stare at the traffic walking toward his feet.
The wind stones our glass window the other day,
a necktie hangs loosely on a chair arm waiting to choke someone.
A phone call from the Post Office plays a mourning song in the background.
Too many women along with my mother adjusted their bodies for their husbands’ deaths news.