by Ifeoluwa Ayandele

Every ghost has a name but you need  

to undress them like a Christmas morning  

& lead them through the streets of death. 

Show them their memories and you will 

see their names written in flowers of grief. 

Say you are the ghost, say what you remember 

of rivers, say how the rivers are in your palms, 

say the rivers are lines on your palms, say how  

you leave home through the rivers in your palms, 

say borders & walls, say rivers swallow your ship, 

say how your father named you lost, say you see 

bodies floating & death playing ping pong on rivers, 

say why you couldn’t cross the borders, say how 

you become a ghost roaming through borders, trying 

to find your name, trying to understand the meaning  

of borders, trying to find a passport you never had,  

trying to find love at the immigration office & trying, 

to find a place that will say: I love you, too. 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Ifeoluwa Ayandele is a Nigerian poet. His poetry has been published or is forthcoming at Borderlands: Texas Poetry Review, Rigorous, The Concrete Desert Review, Ghost City Review, RATTLE, The Ilanot Review, Pidgeonholes, Tint Journal, MockingHeart Review, Thimble, Little Stone Journal, Glass Poetry, Verse Daily and elsewhere. He has completed his MA in English Literature at the University of Lagos, Nigeria. He lives in a room whose window faces a fence and tweets @IAyandele
Twitter

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