Adeboro

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We Still Smell of Smoke

We still smell of smoke although the fire is out.

At home, we still walk on eggshells although (step)father hen is dead.

We still stay out late into the night although light has now returned into our home.

We still wring our fingers although the ocean has dried up.

We still stare at our mother in disbelief although (step) father no longer shares her bed.

We still cower at the honk of a car although both (step) father and his car were destroyed in the accident.

I still wear my belt to its very last hole every night before I sleep, although my hips are now free from their molestation.

We still cry at night, even when there is no cause to.

We still sleep with the lights on even though the monster has long been exorcised.

We say ww still don’t  have a father, even though we only just lost (step) father.

We still worry when mama’s eyes are red, although now we know they are just from crying.

We still hide all our little money, even though the thief has been executed.

We still teach each other mourning songs although now that he’s dead, our morning has come.

We still are scared of constituted authority, although our (step) authority has been deconstituted.

We still have our visions blurred with tears, although the crying stopped long ago.

We still carry our scars although the doctors say we should be fine now.

We are still picking up the pieces of our damage, although our enemy has long been defeated.

We still feel the heat although it’s the rainy season; hear the crackling although the rain pitter-patters; see the flames although it’s misty all around; smell of smoke although the fire is out.

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