28 Apr Unseen

If you ask me how old I am,
I’ll say it depends.
If you ask Mother, she’ll say 34.
In many ways, I am 34.
My knees remind me daily.
But in other ways, I am 6.
No, it’s not the curious case of Benjamin Button.

If you ask me how old I am, I’ll say 6.
Roasting cashew nuts with Onyinye nnukwu,
Until a 505-station wagon pulled up in our home.
Daddy is back I heard them say.
I stand behind the square metallic tank watching.
So, this is him I think out aloud as he scans the area,
Perhaps he was looking for me?
Thinking, surely, I have a 4th child?
If you ask me how old I am,
I’ll say 6, waiting to be seen.

Cho-rister

How old am I?
If you say 6, you are correct.
Reading a book whose title I no longer recall.
Come sit on my lap he urged.
With hesitation, I oblige.
Nesting into comfort, I continued to read.
This time, aloud at his request.
Cho-ris-ta I read aloud,
Like you’d say choice or cho lum ego.
His deafening laughter erupted the room.
I look up to see Mother’s sad face.
With tears in my eyes, I stood up,
Quietly walking to the room.
I wake up to hear he is gone.
As abruptly as he came,
Leaving behind an unsettling void.
How old am I?
If you say 6, you are correct.
Sitting on the balcony,
Wishing he’d never return.

Chiezugolum