My great-great-grandfather wanted the blue beads.
He wanted the navigator to call him friend.
He gave his daughter’s daughter.
He gave the boy who carried his stool.
He pointed and the navigator counted.
The gods watched from the iroko tree.
They did not close their eyes.
They simply forgot which dance was whose.
We became the thing the net catches
and the thing the net forgets—
a flutter, then a stillness, then a price.
In his anxiousness, he sold the future.
But I am the one still counting the beads.
They are not blue anymore.
They are the colour of a palm opened for nothing.
about the author
John Chinaka Onyeche is a Nigerian writer based in Port Harcourt, and a historian from Etche in Rivers State. While he is dedicated to ensuring that the full scope of history is accurately represented, John now writes about family, broken home, the effect on its victims, and survival. His writing can be found in various journals, including York Literary Review, McNeese Review, Pier Review, Rio Grande Valley International Poetry Festival Anthology, Tilted House Journal, The Shallow Tales Review, Akewi Magazine, Tampered Press, Ta—Adesa Magazine and Brittle Paper, etc. He is a Best of Net/Pushcart nominee respectively. You can connect with him on X/Twitter @Apostlejohnchin.