Photo Credit: Pikwizard
A Photograph of You
There is a photograph of you holding your
love, a newly washed white fabric up close
to yourself in the heat of a Sunday that had
just stretched its legs towards your nose.
The sun, tasting yellow as the morning Pa
said his last prayer, holding our hands but
letting go of breath. You loved to paint, said
it was the beauty the world needed.
I imagine that when you left, you must have
painted the journey blue while giving the wind
a taste of your voice. Every morning, I spread
our memories before the face of heaven,
letting them wear its reflection. The grass
begins to burn into glass, and I remember how
much you admired crystals, with their ability
to bend light. You said you wished to be like
this, bending pulchritude into transparency,
knowing how easy it is to break. but what is life if I
cannot be remade? you said, starring at the
very end of the night, watching my thoughts
fizzle. And me, knowing stars do not dance till
noon, remembered I will only have you once.
Last night, I watched the sea roll over itself,
running towards morning and the washed up
sky, I kept one photograph of you, holding our
love up close to yourself, praying it doesn’t
break, praying that I do not break. But I did .
Contributor’s Bio
Bright Kingsley is a Nigerian poet and storyteller exploring silence, memory, and the soft
ache of human connection. His work often blurs the line between the ordinary and the mythical.
You can find more of his writing and quiet observations on Instagram: @justbrightkingsley and
X: @brightkingsleyd.
