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Abayomi Animashaun
The Person You Once Were
Taking down this picture
Of the person you once were
And smashing it against the wall
Of your blue and brown house
Won’t change opinions of you
Held by those you’ve wronged
Who still call you a sloth
And a shameless drunk.
This was twenty years ago, when
The person you once were
Never showed up to work
Gambled wages held in his trust
Drank through the night
And wrote others off.
Smashing this picture
Against the wall
Won’t signal to those you’ve wronged
The bitter work you’ve done –
The nights alone shaking
From cold sweat.
Days before therapists
When you broke down and wept.
Let this picture be a reminder
Of the years you’ve spent
Moving the dial
Toward the person you now are
Able to lie through the night
With its blue and white song
Able to rise before dawn
Pick up the hoe and cutlass
And go in search of work.
Abayomi Animashaun is an immigrant from Nigeria. He holds an MFA from the University of Nevada, Las Vegas and a PhD from the University of Kansas. His poems have appeared in several print and online journals, including Diode, TriQuarterly, The Cortland Review, African American Review, Southern Indiana Review, The Adirondack Review, Passages North, and Versedaily. A recipient of the Hudson Prize and a grant from the International Center for Writing and Translation, Abayo is the author of two poetry collections, Sailing for Ithaca, and The Giving of Pears, and the editor of three anthologies, Far Villages: Welcome Essays for New & Beginner Poets, Others Will Enter the Gates: Immigrant Poets on Poetry, Influences, and Writing in America, and Walking the Tightrope: Poetry and Prose by LGBTQ Writers from Africa (with Spectra, Tatenda Muranda, Irwin Iradunkunda, and Timothy Kimutai).