By Majekodunmi Oseriemen Ebhohon

When they asked me:
“How did Methuselah live so long?”
Nine hundred and sixty-nine moons,
his back unbent,
his bones unstressed.

I replied:
Because he didn’t
marry someone
who ask,
“Why are you always calm?”

Because his wife never said,
“I just wanted to see if you would shout.”

Because no one threw silent treatments
like spears across supper.

He never had to decode
the hidden meaning of
“I’m fine.”

He never faced
cold wars in warm bedrooms,
where eye contact is punishment
and breathing too loud is betrayal.

He wasn’t summoned
in the middle of the night
to explain a dream
he wasn’t in.

He never had to answer
why the sun smiled at him too long,
or why he breathed
with so much confidence.

Methuselah wore one face
and it was enough.

He didn’t need
a rotating catalogue of moods
to prove he was “real.”

He was not asked,
“What are you hiding inside your eyes?”

He was not told,
“Your peace makes me anxious.”

He lived alone
or with a man who simply said
what he meant
and meant what he said.

No puzzles,
no weapons disguised as questions.

No sleeping with one ear open,
in case love changes mood
at 3 a.m.

No being told,
“I miss when you used to chase me,”
after ten years of chasing.

No warfare over toothpaste.
Or why he didn’t read her mind
about needing flowers
on the 25th anniversary
of their first quarrel.

Methuselah lived long
because
peace was not Netanyahu
and breathe
was not that Alemania jester.

He lived long
Because love was not
a battlefield in disguise.

Because he woke,
ate, smiled,
and was not accused
of smiling too much.

He didn’t die early
because
he wasn’t expected
to guess emotions
like silhouette  
in the dark.

See… long life
is not a gift per se
just the absence
of my-height fuses
in shared rooms.

So when they ask me
why Methuselah
lived longer than us,
I simply say:
Methuselah was gay!