{"id":39342,"date":"2025-12-05T14:48:27","date_gmt":"2025-12-05T22:48:27","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/inside.ewu.edu\/willowspringsmagazine\/?p=39342"},"modified":"2025-12-16T14:05:39","modified_gmt":"2025-12-16T22:05:39","slug":"2-poems-by-chinua-ezenwa-ohaeto","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/inside.ewu.edu\/willowspringsmagazine\/2-poems-by-chinua-ezenwa-ohaeto\/","title":{"rendered":"2 Poems by Chinua Ezenwa-\u1ecchaeto"},"content":{"rendered":"
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Found in <\/strong>Willow Springs 96<\/a><\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Back to Author Profile<\/a><\/strong><\/p>\n\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n

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I WROTE ON THE BLACKBOARD ABOUT THE MOON HALVED BY THE ARMS OF GOD<\/h1>\n\n\n\n

And how the death of anything is first being born.
My sister taught me that everything around us is still inside of us.
One afternoon, I held the sun-leaks in my palms and swallowed half of my reflection. Forgive me if I\u2019m not telling this story right.
I must say that the things we struggle to forget often find their way into our dreams. Do you call a woman by the squared window a portrait?
The day my father died, my mother traced him on my face right up to the
place they met.
Thereafter, and for some time, I thought I was my father.
And learned how he walked and pronounced certain words, certain things. This is not grief. And not resentment either.
I always see my father in my dreams. And in one, I learned how he walked and pronounced certain words, certain things.
Thereafter, and for some time, I thought I was my father.
The day he died, my mother traced him on my face right up to the place they met. Do you call a man by the squared window a portrait?
I must say that the things we struggle to forget often find their way into our dreams. Forgive me if I\u2019m not telling this story right.
One afternoon, I held the sun-leaks in my palm and swallowed half of my reflection. My sister taught me that everything around us is still inside of us.
And how the death of anything is first being born.
I wrote on the blackboard about the moon halved by the arms of God.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

-Chinua Ezenwa-Ohaeto<\/p>\n\n\n\n

WHAT I KNOW FROM THE LEFTOVER OF OUR WORLD<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

1
I planted a tree the day my father died
because there shouldn\u2019t be an end to our relationship. Today, I revisit the tree, now as high as a bungalow;
I throw it a coin, a kola, and a cup of palm wine. All done with my knees kissing the ground.
In a distant folklore, they say the dead should be left and forgotten, but my dear father, I will never forget you.
Even as my worries weigh me down, even as I carry on with my losses.
I love you, father. I also love this life, and
that is why I chest everything it is throwing at me.
I want every season to be lush with remembrance even as I am just a door away from the room of sorrow.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

2
A bird nestles by my window.
I think this bird is my father who has found a way to come be with me.
Watching this bird every morning leave
and return questions and speaks to the silence of my strength. But I am not prepared to answer.
In the evening, I tweet with this bird, showing the world
the places in my voice lacking a father, twigs, and morning dew.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

3
Yesterday, a man, maybe four years older, whom I met at a bar asked me, what remains after drinking?
I said, what remains is always the remembrance.
Then I remembered my father and the last smile he gave me when I told him I scored two goals in a football training.
The man smiled and patted me on the back.
And before leaving he said, may tomorrow be better, may it not eat us. I held onto that little prayer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

-Chinua Ezenwa-Ohaeto<\/p>\n\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

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