Harmattan came in
          like a cat out of God’s bag—
squeezing through doors and jumping
          out of the window and undressing
curtains. I placed my feet
          on the floor to feel dry memories
of my grandfather whistling in the barn
          before Harmattan hardened cold
and dry wind put my stories into misty
          morning. My memories became
a cathedral in the wilderness, filled
          with lost hymns and pianos without strings
and hollow seats for ghosts.  Later, grandfather
          unraveled his story of broken country
and how misty mornings were ghosts walking
          through the open city, taking the dusty road
to find their liberty. But liberty was in God’s bag
          and like his Harmattan, God is unpredictable.

Ifeoluwa Ayandele was born in rural Ago Are, Nigeria, the son of a painter. His work is published in The McNeese Review, Borderlands: Texas Poetry Review, Shift: A Journal of Literary Oddities, Cider Press Review, Rattle, Harbor Review, Tiny Spoon, Paper Dragon, Rigorous, Ghost City Review, The Ilanot Review, Pidgeonholes, Glass: A Journal of Poetry, Verse Daily and elsewhere. He is nominated for the 2021 Best of the Net and tweets @IAyandele.

%d bloggers like this: