Angela Nwosu

Excerpt from From Everything Considered

(for Esiaba Irobi)

You might say that,
Spring is the metaphor of the phoenix. The fire from which
magical flowers tell the stories of our enchanting hearts.
But you might consider that,
Nature's nature is to be Nature. Now a flourish. Then a lament.
Now an array of tulips, irises and dandelions. Then the news of floods,
tornadoes and hurricanes of certain doom.
Imagine this,
One by one we say goodbye to this Earth of ambiguous wisdom
and oscillating paradoxes. But even Nature extols kindness, for
we do not leave all at once and so the algorithm of these native names
gives a hint of the philosophy of the other side.
Spirit sees.
Spirit is friend.
Spirit is potent.
Spirit is indifferent to anger.
Should we then deduce from these names that Spirit
is a continuation from Earth-Time?
Can I say, okay, dear friends who are gone, since death is nothing
But a play of distance (distance?), greet
the poet of a burst of fireflies,
greet Mowah, greet Esiri Dafieware whose pot me fitonia is still a
simple wonder- Greet... They are too many to list here...

Having gathered our tears in a cup, I bless the
Earth with the libation of our grief and pray that she bestows
On us her spirit of stoicism...
You might think that,
The past is a play on the memory of distance,
for distance is a mystical mirage.
And the quest for this mirage drives the passion for purpose.
For this,
I am tempted to wear the patience of Penelope.
So this six-months-of-mourning is my loom.
I will begin weaving stories for our Odysseus.
Remember this, That,
Picasso's ghost is still selling.
Vemeer's Girl with a pearl Earring is now a movie.
Hatshepsut has risen from the ashes of three millennia and with
the triumph of forensic inquisition, is queen of Egypt again.
So, if these little mirages persist in their unraveling-
Do you suppose, Mr E.Irobi, that the soul will die with death?
What? Mba. No. I thought so too.

Now we know, don't we, that
Beauty does not deter death.
No season is utterly innocent.
Death is not a conquest of Troy.
This time our Odysseus' will not return.
And Penelope will sit by her loom forever.
Six months of mourning will be stamped on the
Quilt of our lifetime(s).
My friends - what shall we do-
Abide by faith?
Dance in the believe that calvary defeated death?
What should we do?
Weave our hearts of sorrow in the web of togetherness?
Maybe. Could work. Don't know for sure.
Me?
Like an angel without wings
I shall sit in front of the hidden mirror
Admiring Silence.

Then will three words remain...
After the layers of sin has been explored
After all the agony of shape-shifting realities
After the euphoria of trembling
After the nightmares of the Future explode in prophecy
After fame fades in the facade of shadows
After the dreams and desires follow death into the oblivion of mercy
After the pursuit of beauty transform doubt into clear waters
After fear becomes the re-awakened self
After the lamb becomes the passion
When all is said and done
And yet nothing falls into place
Perfection flees into the fields of dying grasses
Then will three words remain;
god Bless God.