I was thunder once
a grinding jaw of ice and time,
carving valleys into shape,
scrawling rivers into stone.
Now I retreat,
spilling myself into streams
that do not know my name.
Each drop a syllable
of my long unwriting.
I remember acacia saplings
rooting in the rubble I left,
lichen stitching colour
into my bare bones.
They inherit what I abandon.
When the last shard slides
into warm saltwater,
remember this:
I was not gone—
I was speaking.
You did not listen.
McLord Selasi
McLord Selasi is a Ghanaian writer, poet, public health researcher, and performing artist. His work explores identity, memory, and our deep connections to the world around us. His work has appeared in Apricot Press, Trampoline, Rough Diamond, Isele Magazine, Eunoia Review, Poetry Journal, Graveside Press, and elsewhere.
You can find McLord on Bluesky: selasimclord.bsky.social