top of page

The Funeral

  • openspaceliteraryj
  • Mar 8, 2022
  • 1 min read

I buried him here

beneath this ocean sand

is where I dug a hole and buried him

When I met him in December,

he had promised me the world,

that his friendship would stand

so tall by my side, like his legs on my bed.

In January he fled

and the heart he awoken split and flipped

and the joy he created dried, and cracked

and the words he spoke wore thorns for thongs.

I buried him here,

beneath this washed sand.

I counted each grain I placed in his grave,

one for each second I drowned believing him.

Bura-Bari Vincent Nwilo


Bura-Bari Nwilo was born in Rivers State but he is resident in the university town called Nsukka, in Enugu State, Nigeria. He is a poet and author of two books of short stories, A Tiny Place Called Happiness, 2016 and The Colour of a Thing Believed, 2018.


 
 
 

Recent Posts

See All
I WAS ONCE THERE

every time there is a chance to talk every time the opportunity arises all I do is show no interest but calmly listen when the topic is...

 
 
 
DEAR GOD

(Name) (Address) Year 20** Dear God, HOLDING ONTO YOU Introducing myself isn't necessary because you knew me before I was even in my...

 
 
 
Sorrow

Words dry up on these lips more often The things that kept these eyes open no longer do This heart has quit being attentive The child...

 
 
 

Comments


Open Space Literary Journal is the brainchild of Kaitlyn Mannix and Oluwakemi Esho who are undertaking the project as part of their postgraduate coursework. All contributors to this blog retain the copyright of their work, and it cannot be used in any format without their express permission. The ideas shared in each work reflect the opinion of the individual authors, and not of the editors. 

bottom of page