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.

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