Ma snatched me out her stomach on a Wednesday.
My first day as abrupt as it could be
Gather the elders, gather the aunties.
Ma didn’t plan on having me
They sang a song to put her at ease
Her diary said that God must have sent
me I was born to a river amongst vast
seas.
Grandma blessed me on a Thursday,
Waking hours spent thinking where
I’d be without her prayers protecting
me.
She’d call for me. She’d dance
to be free. She’d guarantee
that she’d always be here with me.
I thanked the sky for her in my diary.
She came to the village on a Friday—
Greeted with warm skies and kind eyes.
She appeared as traditional as
an ori. Elders stared coldly but grandma held my
hand and serenaded me.
Sommy is what she had named me
and gave me a lock to seal my diary.
She called me to the river on a Saturday,
Wash your body of what used to be
you move with the water just like me.
Grandma was more mouthy than I.
She would oil my hair and sing at night
then nag about how coarse my hair may
be.
Quietly, grandma left us on a Sunday.
I wiped the hot tears from my ma
and sand for her that night.
Let me have the final say–
Ma, ask our maker what She sees in my
eyes. I wonder what I’ll be gifted my final
day Perhaps an Igbo proverb you’d read for
me, or a letter you write in your diary.
I’ll accept the grant whatever it may
be. I will pray for you as you prayed
for me I’ll write a poem about you and
I—
and wherever you are is where I’ll be.