after Jane Kenyon’s “Otherwise”

They took the village that stood behind us. It might have been otherwise. We heard gunshots tearing the bodies of our neighbors. We heard the houses of our friends yelling as they burned and threw their particles at the sky, but the skin of our houses was as clean as a soldier’s polished boots. We knew that your home was behind our own, but the gunmen still chose to burn your buildings. They left your village only after quenching the thirst of their guns and the salivating hunger of their hands, leaving behind the stench of fire and ruin. They left your village and passed through ours, their cruel feet meeting the needs of their hearts. You lived through these moments. You walked through the valley of death and fire, of murder and slaughter, and still came out soft, like a whisper in a hurricane. It might have been otherwise. Your feet gave you strength and you did not hide. You ran to my house to take shelter. A gunman chased you like a wolf chasing a goat and stood afar when he saw that you were safe. This, too, might have been otherwise. We lived through the time of fire and chaos, our breath hanging like constellations strung across the throat of eternity. If we continue to live like this, one day, they will stay in my village and forget your own. You will try to save me, your heart beating for the sake of my heartbeat, and it would be otherwise. 

Ayòdéjì Israel is a Pushcart Prize and BotN nominee. He is a finalist for the 2025 Rhysling Award. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Channel Mag, Lolwe, Apparition, Transition, Consequence, Fahmidan, Plork Press, Interpret,PRISM International, Obsidian, Bacopa, Sandy River, Whale Road, Deadlands & elsewhere. He tweets @Ayo_einstein.