unfinished conversation

my father calls me
for the first time in months, nearly tell him my world
is unsettled. he’s been drinking Akpeteshie all night.
glad to be back in Ghana
not this dust and sizzle place
sapping forever questions
like how we build
that community thing
here? it’s Monday morning
cockatoos all be screeching
and the wailing’s been getting under
my black skin. and he’s been finding
his people back in East Legon.
I can hear it in the cloud of moonshine.
words all slurring, how
to tell him about standing
in a blaze of buffel grass?
how to tell him about
how the desert can’t stop
with these blessings, burning
where words can only dream
to travel?

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