JEREMY T. KARN
REFUGEES’ TESTAMENT
“…the Ghanaian National Police raided the camp and took away over 800 women and children to an unknown destination.’’ 
—Melissa Chea-Annan
in Accra, baba said it wasn’t safe
to say you’re a Liberian—
the day we heard the camp was raided,
we buried baba’s memories like the way
we had buried bodies in muds
[it was wise to embrace his death that way]
it’s hard to imagine that my baba crawled in rough grasses,
his shirt taking share of the blood on their blades
he, too, was scared to die in a foreign country
but before baba left the three years old me to be eaten by the war,
my uncle’s voice rattled with
the sounds of prison key in Accra
the peelings of his skin on the prison’s floor were
like the many prayers we said for him.
IN MY FAMILY, GRIEF KEEPS BITING OUR EYES
for aunt liz,
no one knows how much grief weighs
until it enters the body
when you died,
ours grew like molds on a wall
& turned into a grey paint
i have given up the idea for crying for dead relatives
the more i cried,
the more we buried them
some said it was blessing,
for death to take a whole week to carry you,
to die in your favorite dress,
& your mother fingers caressing the lines in your palms
the door slightly opened like a mouth,
made it perfect for your children to eat the last sight of you breathing
when you die, no one cries,
we knew you were dead long before
your cold hands slipped out from your mother’s lap.
JEREMY T. KARN
writes from somewhere in Liberia. His work had appeared in 20.35: Contemporary African Poets Volume III anthology, The Whale Road, The Rising Phoenix, Kalahari Review, African Writer, Praxis Online Magazine and others.
His chapbook, Miryam Magdalit, has been selected by Kwame Dawes and Chris Abani (The African Poetry Book Fund), in collaboration with Akashic Books, for the 2021 New-Generation African Poets chapbook box set.
Keep making our country proud🙏🙏🙏
You are an amazing poet💯💯