Night Song, and: Petrichor

Night Song, and: Petrichor Ernest O. Ògúnyemí (bio) Night Song To remember you, just howThe poem remembersSound, heaven and oven, Seven birds layingTheir shrill voices in the windThat surrounds The lake. TheNight people, tiredOf calling to The cusps, holdTheir musicA small moment, And silence, likeBloodwater over the pageOf history, spills Its ink over this room.What is your name? In whatKiosk of hunger— End Page 92 Petrichor What are you the afterlife of—longing? A dirge?Sweltering blades whispering delicate things? Whether it was a dream or the limb of a dream, it is impossibleNow to say for sure. I walked outside and stood In the cold wind, under grey clumps of cloud.Light rain kissed my skin. Near the sky, A congregation of white flags turned on their light,Wafting, and wafting, such casual ceremony Of grace. The world brand new as a newborn'sFoot. And there was no room for me and you To begin. In my heart, I felt that subtle fire lose its name, theBlack cowry of my affection disintegrating, a memory Eluded by its ache, water pouring down the sandy streets, milk-Aided coffee, rolling and roiling, voice like the voice of Happy children in a stream, giggling. Whether it was a dreamOr the limb of a dream, I still cannot say for sure. End Page 93 Ernest O. Ògúnyemí ernest o. ògúnyẹmí is the author of A Pocket of Genesis (Variant Literature, 2023). Recent work appears in AGNI, the Sun, The Hopkins Review, Efiko, the Republic, and Mooncalves: An Anthology of Weird Fiction. He is a student of History and International Studies at Lagos State University, Nigeria. Copyright © 2024 University of North Dakota