A cat across the street meows at you
like a familial from another world
in a past life you can't remember again.
A friend, Rachel, throws lovely tantrums
now and then at your paper heart
kindling a flame only a past life lover could ignite.
Though hard to prove, our lives could be leaves
fallen from the unkillable tree of a past life
we thought had died because we died.
See the way we stand perplexed sometimes like people
whose minds are at war with their bodies.
The way we almost know a stranger:
shaking hands, do I know you sir/ma
somewhere I can't remember
somewhere before this life? 
The way your shoes grip your feet like bodyguards
reincarnated from the middle ages.
The way everyone is green like a ghost looking for their bodies
their true selves buried in a cave dated before life.
The way our souls are shrieking like a bereaved banshee.
The way every day there is us pausing like a monument
for a second or two to remember…      

nothing.

Hope Joseph is an essayist, and poet. He writes from Nigeria, West Africa. His works are forthcoming or already published in Notre Dame, CSM, Augur, Stormbird, A long house, Mukoli, SolarPunk, Riddlebird, Reckoning, The Sunlight Press, and more. A Best of the Net & Pushcart Prize nominee. A joint winner for SEVHAGE/Agema Founder’s Prize for Creative Non-Fiction. He's a reader for reckoning press.