The ghost our father killed has come back to life
Clawed its way
out of the earth beneath our feet.
Yesterday we went to drop flowers on its grave
as we do religiously, every week, without fail
a ritual of appeasement to the wronged soul
and found a hole in the ground where it used to be.
Where is it?
Later we heard it weep behind our backs
in the dark of night.
We didn’t scream, just held hands
in a big circle and whispered prayers
like in a convent.
But that must have angered it
For it stomped it’s feet
and shattered a few plates in the kitchen.
A ghost with a bad temper.
Today it took form and launched an attack.
There are six of us, stuck in the past;
a ghost transported to the future –
with an awful temper and fatal instincts.
We found the first brother hanging from the ceiling.
The second brother had eaten his death.
Our sister who was about to conceive
had torn her flesh and brought out her child.
Now, there are three of us left,
stuck in the past with a ghost with a bad temper
a ghost transported to the future, biding its time
before the next attack.
Written by Atanda Obatolu