Masks of Denial
the sun had set
long before
i boarded the train
for the first half
of my long commute
from Newark, NJ to Queens, NY
exhausted
fatigued
when i finally
entered my house,
i met my father,
sitting at the kitchen island
dipping his perfectly rounded
pounded yam
into a big bowl
of ogbono soup
he invited me to join him
i gracefully declined
okra isn’t my thing
like most evenings,
i lamented
about the
inevitable challenges
that accompany
the first year of teaching
i posed my infamous question —
the one i asked whenever
i’ve felt wronged:
why would they do that?
he chuckled
he does that often
perhaps,
his laughter
was a mockery of my naiveté
his neck
protruded outward
as he quickly drew
and swallowed more soup
anxiously,
i waited
he finally responded,
Iyore,
one day
you will see
the world and people
for whom they really are
short
vague
i asked for more,
what do you mean?
you will soon see,
he ended
he was right
so so right.
i’ve traveled
many journeys
around the sun
and the truth
is that
i always knew
but i chose
denial
instead of my gut
instead of my instinct
i do not know why i waited so long
to see
the world
and people
with truthful eyes
i do not know
i’m just glad
that I no longer wear
the mask of
denial
