The Transience of Healing
by Samuel A. Adeyemi
Kogi, Nigeria
Like an apple tree watching the hands that
seeded it perish, I am watching my mother
succumb to impermanence. Where I'm from,
it is a kind of prayer for the garden to outlive
the gardener. The people say, it is better for
a child to bury than be buried. Indeed—some
truths are just harder to chew on. I know the
flesh can only take so much until it begins to
weary. A fragile tapestry. Set fire on a man &
watch it dance his skin away. Likewise, each
illness that grips my mother treats her as coal.
She burns. & burns. & little is left to burn later.
Such suffering, you'd expect healing, too, to
weary. The other day, she said to me, there is
a quiet blade held against my chest. & I began
to tremble, my lungs both filtering breath. By
evening, the ache had begun to dull & I wept,
watching her recover once more. What painful
thing. The transience of healing. She recovers
like a rose waiting to wilt again in winter. I want
her to heal like a fossil returning to a milkflower.
Samuel A. Adeyemi
Samuel A. Adeyemi is a young writer from Nigeria. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Palette Poetry, Frontier Poetry, 580 Split, Leavings Lit Mag, The Shore, The Rising Phoenix Review, African Writer, The African Writers Review, Jalada, and elsewhere. When he is not writing, he enjoys watching anime and listening to a variety of music. You may reach him on Twitter and Instagram @samuelpoetry.
Header Image by Nikolay Kovalenko