© 2018 THE LONG ISLAND LITERARY JOURNAL

Two poems by Oluwafoyinsayemi

 

Dismantling

Yesterday, six of my ten toes vanished.

Left pinky, left middle,

right big, right index, right middle,

right pinky.

I realized I hardly knew them.

 

I lost ownership of my heart

so many Septembers ago as punishment for

a careless bet.

I got it back some Junes later

but by then it was of no use to me

or anyone else.

 

In February of 2006,

my voice was no more

so that I relied on writing,

putting pencil to paper to speak

in ways that I would not.

 

Today my right arm dematerialized.

A travesty for it held the hand

I write with most.

 

Each present becomes a gift

to the past.

So too does my being.

Only my smile is left, all lips,

because soon

 

I will be no more.

 

Charge to the Public

Let my letters live       on

when my heart has beat its course

and my breath is no more.

 

After my skin has faded,

no longer black     girl

no longer    here, no longer.

 

Once my spirit has drifted     away,

my reality on its next plane,

the memory of me     expired.

 

Let my messages     live on

long past my mind’s demise,

brain already broken   down.

 

As soon as I am buried deep within

the ground’s center or burned,  black girl finally

fallen girl finally, ashes scattered      far.

 

The moment my muddy eyes close

one last time and I am resting in

infinite      sleep.

 

Let my words live on

in ways that I         will not.

 

 

Oluwafoyinsayemi is currently pursuing a bachelor's degree in English with a concentration in Creative Writing.

She often tries to combine her passion for writing with her passion for social justice.

For Oluwafoyinsayemi, writing is the vehicle for which to improve the world, one mind at a time