Then Poem by Adeosun Olamide

It will be night
You about dinner
The phone rings
Tis odd the hour
But it rings again-
A strange caller
Don’t snub it!
Do pick, heed gently
For tis to tell- I died
So you heard clear
The call ends-
But you listen still
Still to the silence-
There’s no echo-
Only my giggles-
So you came
Searching, digging-
Sorting my letters
Finding my portrait
Tears leaping-
You remember here
My good, my wit
My warmth, my peace
And your memory now
Is forgotten my wrong
My wrong -that parted us
Forgive yourself -dear
I deserved worse.