i.
i was alive seven weeks,
three days
until my mother felt me.
there i was in her ocean,
the umbilical cord my ark
as i sailed from ultrasound
into life.
they saw my teeth
and named me laughter.
how screams shine like smiles.
how hysteria echoes like—
a drowning earth.
i’ve learned there is no such thing
as a drowning sky
because the heavens cannot be baptized.
ii.
what is a smile
while a million portraits of you
sink into earth’s unseen?
today, they still call me laughter,
and rightfully so.
yet my essence knows why
the sky cries.
why she sets into the color of wine
each evening.
why her cold shoulders shiver like
last trimester depressions.
why her snowflakes fall beautifully
every year she outlasts her peers.
iii.
day three
is a journal entry
that begins like the others
but never ends.
it is a dove flying out
into a new world
without its flock
flying flying flying
seeking rest
as its wings wipe the tears
of a mourning sky.
Isaac Akanmu is a poet, financial analyst & author of not belonging anywhere.
