Monochrome Photo with Fragments in a Closet, and: How We Use Our Hands to Divide Us

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Monochrome Photo with Fragments in a Closet, and: How We Use Our Hands to Divide Us Chinua Ezenwa-Ohaeto (bio) Keywords Chunua, Ezenwa-Ohaeto, Nigerian poet, song, library, God, Africa Monochrome Photo with Fragments in a Closet I am singing about the undone things cited on buried bones.I am singing them because I like to imagine a valley with a library on it.A library with catalogues that don't always read, sorry for the losses.I like to imagine a lot of things but death.I am familiar with how each momentoutweighs the knowledge that appears close by.In my country, it's a fact the cheaper an item, the better it feels.And it feels right now like I have beenholding back a privileged complaint.Oh well, everything can't always come as clean as bones.And it's not funny I don't know things till I know them.And I am still singing about the undone things cited on buried bones:Half the sun dulls and I remember myfriend who is everything but history tamer.I am not tired narrating stories wherethe past grows tall into disturbances.I like to hop onto a train and visit my friendwho recognizes the idea in building sand castles.This poem is not about me if you look close enough.I often fail at naming the unsettled ponds in my head.Everything I wish known is all in the eyelashes.Last month, I figured out every unplacedmemory is a palette asking for purpose.I can name the excesses accorded to swanned afternoons.But I can't for now.So come, come help me.Let's mend these museums where we can never forget. [End Page 276] How We Use Our Hands to Divide Us I begin my day by throttling my throat and thoughts. It's so hard trying tofind God before God finds me. I begin my day by throttling my throat andthoughts and theatrics. Every flower you see had its dirt to become theflower you now see. The arrogance of itch is what people often overlook.But that's not why I am here today. One time like that, I came upon a riverby my village. And its shimmering face defies the illusions of erudition andhunger. I remembered reading things about the memories a river can hold.I remembered being told how rivers were the spots turned into whips andguns that saw our fathers into ships. Now upon this one by my village, Iwondered how many people that have drowned in it. A thousand maybe.Three thousand, I guess. Perhaps more. I keep wondering the mouthpeople use in kissing after lying with them. I keep wondering about nam-ing. Especially naming with intents. We are so close to nature that we arenamed uncivilised. We are so us that black is all these mouths could say ofour skins. It's always too hard to do life alone. It's always too hard to do lifealone. See how we invalidate everything that suffers. See how we use ourhands to divide us. [End Page 277] Chinua Ezenwa-Ohaeto chinua ezenwa-ohaeto (Twitter: @ ChinuaEzenwa) is from Owerri-Nkworji in Nkwerre, Imo state, Nigeria, and grew up in Germany and Nigeria. His chapbook The Teenager Who Became My Mother is from Sevhage Publishers. He was a runner-up for the Etisalat Prize for Literature, flash fiction, in 2014. He won the Castello di Duino Poesia Prize for an unpublished poem in 2018, which took him to Italy. He was the recipient of the New Hampshire Institute of Art's 2018 Writing Award and its 2018 MFA program scholarship. In 2019 he won the Sevhage/Angus Poetry Prize and was second runner-up in the 5th Singapore Poetry Contest. He won first prize in the 2020 Creators of Justice Literary Award, poetry category, organized by the International Human Rights Art Festival, New York. His works have appeared in Lunaris Review, AFREADA, Poet Lore, Rush Magazine, Frontier, Palette, Malahat Review, Southword Magazine, Vallum, Mud Season Review, Salamander, Strange Horizons, One, Ake Review, Crannòg, The Question...