stoic

strength from
an age before me
carries me
and
guides me away from
that hate that
would take
my life
if
i
let it
now i slowely regain
joy i find
in
honey green tea
and
leafy conversation
chioma's laugh
ozzie's legitimate consternation
temi's depth
teekay's constant affection
love's slow obliteration
of
any doubt
that the heart in me lives on
i am made for love and music

for koya the gatekeeper

i can hear
your voice
in my feet
walking me
through
underbrush laced with a
thousand thorns
remember when
you
talked me through
my night terrors
candle of comfort
hand held over yours
we ran with no shoes across scorpion sands
together
my friend from then, here... till ever
i swear i can not love
you
more than
i do now.

these early days

warm
gold flecked warm irises
from center of his sweet heart
this sweetheart
called
man from the song
is
warm
his words flowing into my mouth
i already
feel
warm
kisses from his
head
he says;
"can we walk...?
your
heart is yours to keep
as long as
you let me sleep...
inside your womb
hide inside your hand..
be
warm"
and
i
slip hand into
backpocket of his
faded jeans
and i
walk with him
and my
tiny palm against
his
firm buttocks feels...
warm.

as we once were

trained to kill…we see we are now victims of our own…futile attempts to live at the center of the world…/advocates of all that is downtrodden and ill-gotten…/we have become the passionless and obscene…/riding on the waveless low-tide of mediocrity….how can we now claim to be blessed of the Father…/I laugh at my foolish illusions now…/those dreams of grandeur and free-flowing honor…/as I stare into gaping maw of unfinished business…/these recesses of untold imagination…/dark machinations of all that causes us to cease to live as our Maker intended…./we have silenced fire that burned us into refined gods of precious metal…/we have quenched gamma rays of piercing heat ….that constant reminder that pain and deep sacrifice precedes power and gifts from heaven…/enough of these times when we hear tell of exploits of others…/let us forget foibles....fling far from us fear causing us to fornicate with our foes for mere trifles....capture these autumn days and wax golden with the leaves….strong with the east wind…/majestic with the turn of trees that stand naked and unashamed…ready for diamond icicles from the throat of the winter king to come adorn…/come dream a little dream for the home we have left behind.

loss

alone and wide awake in this….dense growth of frozen opportunity…failed continuity…/I wonder when the end of this stillness will begin…/when that fiend that haunts and steals from my dreams will…/let me be…/allow me to see the promise that I know has been captured and sealed in that ….finely blown cinnamon colored jar…/writhing in....this tangible agony…/flecks of saliva seethe from between my teeth…/like crazed soulless wanderer…/I have become…stammerer…unable to speak my own victory into a solution for my doom…/soon I begin to wonder at the vastness of this God that carved his last name into depths of my swollen brain and…/through the pain of this… fresh contusion…I remember…healing springs of solace…/I find in my solitude what suddenly seemed like lost purpose…mere minutes before…/and I wonder if I can ever truly hold my godfather to ransom…/when did faith become quid pro quo…/when did I ever really know…what He had in his card stack for me…/since when did I wait for fate to show His hand before I believed and took a stand…

….when did I begin to lose my Faith.

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.