I Echo

The One Who Walks into Open Frequency

after Linda Gregg

"Is there a greater flex than love? Nowhere to hide, nowhere to go. A direct gaze." 
—Caleb Azumah Nelson, “Open Water”

I am reading Linda Gregg. The poem
where you switch on the voice 
of the tongueless TV like the arse of a dam 
opens to strike itself from a breach. Just to hear 
the man say again, "I love you." 
Kwaku lays on the bed like an abandoned 
thing waiting to be picked into the pocket 
by she who finds it necessary & I am
practicing the okayness of silence.
Easy as a red nail fists into a foot.
Easy as the wind swells the belly 
of a curtain behind an open window,
I could wrestle Kwaku from the bed
out towards the street, but I do not
think out there smells anything like cardamom.
Maybe smoked corn. Maybe smoked beans.
Maybe smoke or just air. The uncertainty
lays me down like a wig laurels the head
of a mannequin. When the poem says 
"I love you," I spit it out. & Kwaku responds.
The head culls itself from the whip of polemic 
silence. The clarity of loving, a lip in the eye 
of a fist.

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I Echo is the pen name of Ghanaian-Nigerian writer Chris Baah who writes predominantly from Accra, Ghana. His works mostly revolve around masculinity, love and connections. Dreaming of exploring the world, new cultures and new conversations, he hopes he can save the world by saving himself. He's on X as @AyeEcho