Orchestra Immigrant

in this picture, a refugee mother holds
what’s left of her child which is left of a tragic boat.
diaspora is an exodus of birds
filled with aching concerto of loss.
loss is a language every region speaks
but in different accents scattered
like dishwares over wooden floorboards.
on my tongue are churches where pews
are getting raped with bullets,
cities terrorized by bandits, Fulani herdsmen & IPOB.
elsewhere, there’s a woman standing by the roadside.
passerbys are telling her to take heart,
they give her flowers in place of her husband
who had gone to war & never rifled back.
under my faucet where algae once sprouted
are flooded wingspans of dhingies.
like you, i am also wondering how they got there.
i don’t know what the dead say underwater
but i am sure it is something rooted to the living.