Reading an Aubade to Your Absence
after “A Walk through Intimacy,” by Theresah Ankomah
Under the auspices of the wind, light, revealed.
In the dark places of the world—the cranium of an animal
Once loved, now grieved; the grave of a woman
Who died too green to breastfeed a baby—
The bees make a home. When the curtains swirl to the wind,
A humerus arises in the alchemy of blood.
Ananse—Kwaku, when you wove capillaries through this body
Was it a blueprint for a dating app or were you making quilts
For the cold? If you made a home with a weaver bird,
It could hold water—but the strength of a home is in its porosity.
Under the auspices of the wind—
Is the light concealed?
Where you once lay, now a dark place—
I make a home.