for these strong enchantments

for the ones who call me…sister…/da a lu…/I salute this…bond…this… eternal stronghold of …spirits…sewn together into…string orchestra…/I call each name…as it was …breathed into the hearts of you fathers…/

for the one called Naa…/first wife of Jesus…/regal seamstress of His glorious design…/you plow through proud life and…command the angels to sing you to sleep…/planting fields with food enough to feed Galilee…/you inspire me…/empress of your time…/you rise high…/untouchable../unforgettable…/

for the one called Emalohi…/daughter of war…/pride of your Father…/you gather mysteries of life to your bosom…/daring each locked door to reveal a surprise…/the earth will never mourn your demise…/for you will live evermore in every song you sing…./graceful strains echoing inside generations/you are at once ruler and servant of your journey…/soldier of God…strongwoman…/

for Eseseowa…new flower watered with truth…you are beauty with no end…a comely fire…/you blaze lustrous paths…bordered by …purple and green blossoms…/all in your wake bless you for the gift you are…/

for the one called Eyiwunmi…/dream catcher…life saver…/in your bedchamber you…fashion world resurrecting stratagem…your largess is endless…your imagination…boundless…singlehandedly finding the key to dark city…you ride between each concrete edifice/trail of light illuminating blackened skin of unsung heroes…/…you are conclusion to magnificent ode to magnificent city…who dares silence your song…/

for my own Chioma…/your sweetness is balm to all who hold you within sight…/ezewanyi!…/you define your heritage …/with confidence devoid of all artifice…/razor sharp intellect… quiet voice of reason…refreshing as tropical downpour in and out of season…./

I speak next of Ozzie…formed from…special silver clay pot…/you are not of this world/…hunter and gatherer of all that is mighty…/you break genres.../boldly conquer dark corners…/head and shoulders above your brothers…you are…riptide of sound and song…well of soul…pulsating passion…/inordinate vision…/you echo in the hearts of those blessed to know you…/stranger among us...immortal…you will live forever…/

I remember the one called Toyin…/under the sound of your battle cry../you call choir of heaven to music…/right hand woman of Michael…/first child of peace…/your glory fills the Temple…/forever one with God…/

for the one called Adebanke…/gone to conquer lands far and free…/resolute of mind…/you gather each grain of golden sand….each measure infused with blood of your labor…/whiplash wit…/strong in your power seat…see how she rules…/

I speak next of Uche…wild spirit from the hinterland…/you brand all within your reach with signature of your presence…drenched in your father’s blood you are…fearless in world play…/you oversee the making of your world with fist cast in iron and gold clay…/

Nellie…/east African empress…/soft spoken beacon of… light and sweetness …/you trace your own path through jungle, through throng clamoring for your eyes…/and you paint magnificent map of consistent ideals…/inexplicable wisdom…/overflowing love…

for Ogugua and Ono and Ms Adetunji…blessed with healing souls…your spirits fly beyond you to glade and valley and fast flowing river…/you are a givers…/unparallel minds…matchless spirits…/your swiftly flying hands bring solace in time of strife…

for my own Ayokeji…/olori…omo oba…/constant friend through uncertain time…/overflowing honey-well of angel dust…/you are smooth symphony…unending rendition of timeless sound…/mirror image of heaven’s face…/you walk at even pace…/and bring grace to your world…./

and for all the women in my mind’s caves../beautiful…bold…all my warriors…my African braves…/rule well in your queendoms…/fight for those freedoms that are yours already if you will only reach…/remember to be… Aphrodite to your lovers…Isis to your sons…/Artemis to your brothers…/ remember to be proud…remember to be true…and above all …remember to be woman.

train ride to India

I heard the strains of the Yanadi folk song before I saw him…fringes of my eyes lifted and took in…limpid chocolate pools that…reflected the vista…picture imprisoned in thick panes of train windows…we were passing painting by the hand of …heaven’s elves…canvas that changed with each turn of the trail…with each note from his brown cherry lips…he stopped when he realized…I was staring at him …“hello miss”….pink and white fingernails were the end of white cocoa knuckled fingers… grasping headrest of his well worn leather seat…he struggled to stay upright as…the train jostled us home to… “hello…”….i didn’t say more…I wanted him to keep singing…song telling me stories of his skin burnt brown like his mothers naan oven…I wanted him to keep speaking…lilting honey laced sound selling his soul to merchant of my heart’s affections…I wanted him to keep looking at me…child eyes…demanding that I recognize the meaning of this space in our lives…when he brushed my skin with his baby breath and ….fed me sweet tea…the kind his mother poured from the leaf infused bottom of her…wedding china…humid Sunday afternoon when neighbors…sat on verandah cane chairs…gossiping and swatting at flies…the only motion amidst the sun’s stillness….for a moment I loved him like my own…until… he pursed his lips and resumed his song….breaking away from my gaze…he turned around in his…well worn leather seat…and…seeing that he was gone from me…I…went back to my book…a thousand pages unseen…I relived my life with the Yanadi child on the Amtrak train car to Buffalo…

….I still want to run my fingers through his tight brown curls….and…give him treats from the depths of my bosom…because for those moments…he was mine.