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A.C. Yeboah Poetry Collection

A.C. Yeboah Poetry Collection

Featured in issue 17 of Dreamers Magazine.

what if

was there ever any other reason to believe that
the unwanted interruption: the detour
the cessation of innocence: the obstruction:
the traumatic event: the contorted catalyst: the comedown:
the defeat: the wrong turn
was not the end

and that what blinded you: scarred and marred you:
burned you beyond recognition,
(you could never forget what almost destroyed you)
did not equate to your worthlessness

what if the wounds you brandished around your neck
like a first-place medal

what if
they betrayed you
held back, did not tell the full story
you were more than what cut you, to what you thought cost you everything
though you were damaged, you were meant to sprout wings and fly
you were majestic even before you emerged from the cocoon
even as you leaked rivulets of tainted water, even as poison stirred within your veins
cutting off your oxygen

what you knew: no way you didn’t bleed out
what you lacked: emergency plan, first-aid kit,
whining ambulance skirting traffic to come save you,
a fighter to pull you out of the fire
ER team to facilitate resuscitation,
elite hostage negotiation team, a band-aid
what you did: you saved yourself

what if
you were bigger than what consumed you
despite your want of escape, and your infatuation with the lingering hurt

what if
you didn’t give up: if you crawled instead of walked,
if you tried again one more time

what if
you knew yourself better than you at first believed
and the remnants from the carnage could somehow have a purpose
and your skewed memories could form a collage of sorts
fashioning you an artist

what if
you could be resurrected into your own saviour,
cloned into your own protector
morphed into an effigy that could scale the Skydome

what if
the metamorphosis could cast you as a phoenix, defiant in your rise

what if
you had always been meant to survive

what if
you were the archaeologist extracting bones from overbaked dirt
unearthing treasures from secluded caves
drawing life out of ashes
carving out your own destiny

what if
you learned that you never really needed their permission
and you stood at the front, instead of lounged in the back

what if
you didn’t ask them what they thought of you,
what their consensus was on your mere existence

what if
you never said sorry for taking up the space you hold

what if
you no longer nursed your pain like a fever-high toddler

what if
there was another you waiting to be born,
if only you would make room
would you arrange to meet this new you
if so, what would you say

what if
you could meet her
on a brand-new tomorrow,
blooming and free

what if

the dream

last night you appeared as
an aroused hummingbird with a song to sing

i rewarded you by unfurling
myself like a pollinating flower
so you could feed on my sweet nectar
to liberate from my stigma a substance to nourish you

the cool night air whistled as we became intimate
you imparted spine-tingling secrets
constructing the unreal word by word
i became captivated by your daringness,
and your keen will to activate overnight

while the silence lingered close as a spellbound audience
we made a pact like two teen girls at camp
to seal your existence within me
i promised to never let you go

as sleep returned me to their embrace
i held on like a desperate lover
rammed you tight against my chest
until you were no more

djembe dance

I saw you dancing to the beat of a djembe drum

your delicate feet tapped from left to right
as your body swayed like a metronome to the pulsing rhythm
when you saw what you could do
you smiled

as you whirled around in hypnotic circles the sun bathed you in its halo
and you emerged a rising protostar
flaunting moves defiant enough to banish the poisonous whispers
uttered by those too blind to see your glory
when they cast pebbles at your feet you shone brighter

you danced yourself silly oblivious to the gaze of the gluttonous spectator
adorned in your royal kente gown
and crowned in the majesty of the motherland
a pride of Nubian protectors orbited around you

my dear, you were a luminescent work of art

and the drums pulsated like a lovesick heart
as you spun around and around
reversing time and chaos
revolving backwards reclaiming stolen memories
taking back what was lost

i lingered, eyes stayed on you, enraptured…

A.C. Yeboah

About the Author – A.C. Yeboah

A.C. Yeboah is a Canadian writer, facilitator, and quiet disruptor whose writing explores identity, self-acceptance, growth, and playful discovery. A second-generation Canadian to immigrant parents, A.C. Yeboah is keen on contributing to discussions revolving around cultural identity and the different ways it intersects with our everyday experiences. A.C’s print project, Breaking Barriers, was published by the Mayworks Festival in 2021. 

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