• Jessica Fatoye

POETRY: NOSTALGIA



You were

Louisiana Jazz on a Sunday morning,


The crackle of your laughter echoes the fuzz of our record player,

It is from Deep in your belly where the Soul lives


You were old to me then -

not like you are now,

but the old of nostalgia that's in its making,

Brushed between the lips of past and present 


You were tickles that hurt more than they feathered,

Half-

laughed/ 

half-

choked to be polite

(you never did know your own strength)


You were trips to gas stations, diners, drive-thrus,

the smell of smoke on your jacket after 

nights unexplained


the side-slip of candy 

(reparations)


You were, 

red and blue 

and hands round throats

tickling much harder than they should 


Small eyes peeping round corners

too much past their bedtime 

waking from nightmare to nightmare


At times you were nothing 


“At times” became more:


you are weekly texts 

or annual

(mood dependent?)


you are however much money your guilt earns -

more than 9 to 5

the only promise in ink is 

your bank signature


you are apologetic


sure. 


but never what you were before


© J. Fatoye






STAY UP TO DATE - SUBSCRIBE TO OUR NEWSLETTER

  • Instagram
  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Spotify
  • Instagram
  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Spotify