Travelling with My Brother

I studied quietness. the same way
the sky learns to be heavy when the moon speaks

but not my brother. he treats silence like
an open wound. always looking to care for
it with his voice before it gets infected

today is saturday. we are on our way
to see our grandma. who uses stories to pour
our granddad back into us. and I'm sitting
at the back of the bus with my brother being
submissive to silence

then he shouts.
look. the clouds are
stealing the sun from the sky
interrupting me as I'm thinking about
what a friend said yesterday. about how
I tend to hide my voice even when I speak

I look up. trying to understand what he's saying
but he leaves the sky & points to the trees
telling me how they look like victims of an
unnecessary war. he leaves the trees & describes
how the scars & cuts on a river we just passed.
makes it look more like a cemetery than a water body.

I love travelling with my brother. he sees
the heart of the earth carved into everything.
even into a space of nothingness

I love travelling with my brother. he carries
my tongue like it is a trophy. and I carry
his memory in words.

Jay Kophy is a Ghanaian poet and writer. His poems are forthcoming and have been featured in literary magazines such as Glass Poetry, Shore Poetry, Kalahari Review, Hellebore, Tampered Press and many others. His poem If the Body Could Speak appeared in the second issue of 20.35 Africa's Anthology of Contemporary Poetry. He's also curator of anthologies to grow in two bodies and How to Write My Country's Name, two collections of poems and short stories from emerging young African writers. You can find him on Twitter @jay_kophy.