(Previously published in HAD)

in that dream,

you are carrying

a bucket of water

from the backyard

to the kitchen where

our mother called you

at the top of her voice

& as you rushed through

the small dark corridor

of the old brown house

we used to live in ogunleye

you slipped & fell & laid

there, silent in the way

language forsakes the

tongue; the ship of

your body unable

to turn itself

towards

shore.

Kókósẹ

ninú àlá yẹn

òún gbé

ike omi

láti ẹ̀yìnkùlé níbití

ìyá wa ti gbé pè ó

ní ohùn òkè

ó sì sáré gba

àárín ilé kékeré to dúdú

ti ilé àtijọ́ aláwọ̀ pípọ́n

ògúnlẹyẹ là n gbé nigbanà

o yọ́ o sì subú, o nara sílẹ̀

níbè, ìdákérọ́rọ́ lójú ọ̀nà

èdè ko

ahọ́n sìlẹ̀; ọkọ́ ojú omi

ara rẹ kùnà

láti yípadà

sí ọ̀nà

etí òkun.