Poetry by Reggie Kyere

You lie in the white bed
like the Black Volta.
but turbulent from within.

A mild prod
and your banks will burst.
On your side, the elephant ear plant sits,
wild, like a river plant.

I wade waist – deep
into you.
You are warm.
you are steep.

Tell me about the course
of your body, I say.
You smile,
and place my hand on your breast.

This is Burkina Faso –
you start here.
Then you end in Dagbon, you say,
resting my hand on the crotch panel of your black, lace  panties.

Your breasts are rainwater in my mouth.
my worshipful mouth travels down your black channel
And your banks burst. Spilling onto your floodplain
the most beautiful flood water.

You are the Odaw River after heavy rains
as I snorkel in your floodplain with my worshipful mouth.
But your hands are tree stumps
and your thighs are angry currents.

I am irritated.
my mouth is covered in wet silt.
So I swallow you whole
and you cry out,

Knocking your beloved elephant ear plant
to the floor.
Yes, sometimes we hurt the ones we love
when we are happy.


Of whales- Part 2

The idea
that love Is not shellfish

                             means that at its core
                                 Love is 98 feet and

380, 000 pounds

    like a blue whale


                                    you would float from one
                                        end of the room to the other


and when you stood before the mirror
       to part your hair into two


                              the comb would glide through its curly strands like they weren’t there –


like the white handkerchief

       you brandished as you danced Zanku on air


                                        Or  the crushed pot of the elephant ear plant
                                          that you lifted and tossed into the bin


that day in August when you collected your phone from the white bed
and flew  into the streets


                                 i watched  you as you   levitated  over  electricity poles  and billboards
                                     gazed upon by giant hungry men


your purple satin hair bonnet still hangs on a nail

       inside the wardrobe in the room you flew away from-


Reggie Kyere dabbles in poetry occasionally. He tweets at @ReggieShanti