I've read of a mother’s child that never returned home

a disciple that kissed the feet of his friend and saviour

an uncle whose niece’s thighs are his comfort zone

with her mother in the know but choosing to be Stevie, and I wonder.

I wonder if the walls with ears only selectively listen

I wonder what the moon sees but hides from the sun

I wonder if heaven is too busy, what of the gods?

I wonder how a mother sleeps at night not knowing if her child is dead or missing.

Tomide Abdul