i allowed myself to latch on
to the cobwebs
at the corners of the room.
i felt them, string after string, break from under me
like they knew my pain but couldn’t carry it too long.
as they came crashing down,
i swirled in the monotone verse of the ceiling fan
and became its mockingbird.
together we composed a tune
that could cast a restless monkey into the spell of meditation.
inseparable from the background.
i wasn’t even a fly on the wall
but a chameleon.
when i became too visible
i’d fold into the pages of books
on the desk
and become their words;
begging not to be read.
i pulled at the frisks of my hair to even them out
only finding that I made my scalp bleed.
i soaked and dissolved into my own sweat
evaporating into nothingness.
i put a cloak over my shame
and held my breath
praying that i wouldn’t exude any form of life
whenever the room talked about you.
—
Sulayman Saye is a Gambian writer (and poet?). He works as a screenwriter for Studio 71, a production company based in The Gambia. His work has been published in Kalahari Review.