Dancing

by Efe Ogufere

i grew up thinking that the body of a woman is a house. an abandoned house around the corner, a repository for beautiful broken things. walk too briskly and you’d miss it.

it must have been that first night

mother neatly folded sobs between her wrappers and carefully placed them, locked, in a box deep breaths and a despondent smile as she walked out and dared a lion to bare his teeth. she must have forgotten that she was a pacifist.

it must have been the crunching sound of breaking bones dancing to a tune, a marriage of fists and naked flesh or the steel in her voice urging me to go as she whispered,

back to bed Jethro, your father and I are just dancing

Efe Ogufere is a banker working in Portharcourt, Nigeria with a passion for written and spoken word poetry. A few of his poems have been featured in journals and magazines such as Sediments Literary Review, African Writer, The Kalahari Review, WRR, Afrikan Mbiu and Pulse Nigeria. In 2016, he was long-listed for the RL Poetry Award (International Category). He is currently working on his chapbook titled Collecting Memories. He blogs at theaventurine. wordpress.com and tweets at @theaventurine.