Remembering the Owo Massacre and many others of its kind
Even the temple testified to the fragrance
of her hymns—before she was slain
right on the pulpit. While God watched in awe
what man can do to his kind. To some,
this is just a show. A boy walks the road gingerly,
each step afraid of the next, a trigger-happy
policeman might mistake his gun
for a bouquet of flowers and watch till the boy’s
vintage shirt blends with the tint of roses
his gun would spit. This place
is not an abattoir, but each day
her people are severed
into bits. On the atlas, home
is a meadow of unmapped graves.
Meet the people and you will see how
they have learned to wear their pain
like a beautiful corset—a little too tight
but they still make a joke out of it.
Source: Poetry (June 2025)