The Towel of our Tongues | Chisom Eze

(cover photograph direction: Ene Ochayi)

the haircut

I must have been Samson in a past life. I bristle each time steel greets the half-moon of my scalp, and this unholy union of metal teeth and rind feels to me like the beginnings of betrayal. I bristle at the barber, the blade, this undignified act of unhairing, this willful but resented epilation. I endure it poorly. It is the eve of our last dinner, so I must.

the dinner

It is the eve of our lives. I dream of chandeliers and marble, sequin and lipstick. Look sharp in a suit. Foresee the after-party exactly as it ends: hands reaching for heaven, errant strobe light, us stinking of Heineken, of aliveness, breaths in each other’s faces, amapiano swirling sweeter on the towel of our tongues than the taste of anything the bar offers. I must have been Samson in a past life, blinded, but surer of my feet than all else. There is a tenderness to this youthful debauchery.

the after-party

There is irony. A classmate passes, a cousin, a parent. And, as if in defiance, we dance. We play dress up. We pose for the flash of a camera. Stretch cheek and lip into smiling. Our teeth bloodied white by the fluorescent. And we dance. As if to say: Here we are, bursting with life. As if to say to death: You do not touch us tonight.

Chisom Eze

is a writer, poet and artist residing in Port Harcourt. He was a finalist for the 2024 Kofi Awoonor Poetry Prize and Verdant Poetry Prize respectively. His poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in The Martello Magazine, Resurrection Magazine, Akwodee Magazine, Healthline zine Ghost City Review, Isele Magazine and elsewhere. He tweets @ee_chisom.