after ABBA
after the magic show ends, Dede & I
trudge homewards, past the nighttime traders
and their tents, past the honking taxis. the wind
is smacking our faces, bellowing in our ears
when Dede says, our eyes are like kids,
they can be easily deceived. I give a hhm
as if to agree, then I ask, what about the brain?
he goes, well, in the case of love, your brain
loses itself. it’s like you’re dreaming, like magic.
we don’t stop the chuckles in our throats
because we know it’s true.we arrive
at an intersection. the traffic is awfully slow
& he begins to liken it to the cells in the human body
when love happens. they’re in a haste
to get to their destinations, he says, everything
inside you, everything you feel.
*
I remember the afternoon at the community garden,
me bending over a withering iris patch,
you next to me, dirt underneath your nails,
the birds on the jacaranda tree; that was the first time
I noticed your hazel eyes
because they were magnificent,
like clear ponds. you can tell what someone
is thinking just by looking into their eyes, my mother
once told me. I believed that until I met you.
*
I am walking behind Dede, choosing where
to place my feet, past the liquor stores, past the man
walking his poodle. with the wind still smacking
our faces, I ask, what do you call the feeling you get
when you’re staring into the eyes of someone you love?
he is silent, even as we walk up to the front porch
of his house. amidst the melody from the bamboo chimes
&the wind bellowing in my ears, I hear his voice,
that, right there, is a dangerous thing to do. you mustn’t look too deep.
I give two small nods as if to agree.
Ohia, Ernest Chigaemezu is an MFA candidate in Poetry at the University of Alabama, and the poetry editor for ArtsLounge. Ernest’s creative writing has appeared or is forthcoming in publications including Lolwe, Rigorous, Nantygreens, Agbowo, The Muse, 20:35, and elsewhere. He is also an associate poetry editor for Black Warrior Review, and a reader for West Trade Review.