"someday, the lost shall meet the dead" so, a boy wanders away into the woods gathering the bones of dead predators littered unevenly here, there, everywhere—he calls them flowers he stoops to pick up an arm— his aunt's— that arm that fed him fufu at infancy & taught him the dance of a nympho before he learned to spell p u b e r t y he turns around and spots a skull—his priest's— that face he loathes with pious disgust & tries, in futility, to erase the memories of father gọzie's communion of anal thrusts a breath away lies a limb like his senior, olatunde: that brash & 'beautiful idiot'—his nickname— who walked him down the hub of porn as rite of passage to self-pleasure like a scavenger, he collects more bones a hip, a jaw, some ribs, fingers & elbows fills his emotional baggage to the brim with the remains of taunting memories whilst whistling michael jackson's 'earth song' "what about flowering fields? is there a time? what about all the dreams that you said was yours and mine? did you ever stop to notice all the boys dead from 'sexual abuse'? did you ever stop to notice this crying 'hurting boy'?" soon, he arrives his destination—a cemetery— drops on his knees, wiped his sweaty face with unsteady hands, stretched his tired body over his mother's grave & said; "mother, i brought you flowers"—(a banquet of bones) whilst pulling the sack of bones closer to the grave. silence. he lays still. eyes shut. breath stopped. "someday, the lost shall meet the dead"
Jaachị Anyatọnwụ is a poet, editor, and publisher living in the suburbs of Aba. He is the author of numerous poetry chapbooks and collections, and the Editor-In-Chief of Poemify Publishers Inc. Jaachị is passionate about discovering new voices and mentoring emerging poets. He is also a fierce advocate for the boy child and sexually molested. His writings are inspired by everyday happenings and observations.