Ayoola Goodyness Olanrewaju writes

half-orphan

i see her legs and silence
her vacant anklets
without charm...without chimes...

her eyes are the sadness
of school children
whose laughter was stolen by a sudden rain...

the sadness of maidens and broken pots
whose virgin dauntlessness is punctured
by the raging twigs of thunder...

the sadness of an unkempt kitchen
of broken pots...spilled oil
the foul smell of stale soup
a kingly darkness and a diary of dead mothers...

the sadness of widows without warmth
whose lonely days are needled by the threads of cold
and fear in distant dreams in the boils of nights...

her flute of rhythms is stuck in the feathers of owls
her drummers drunk with power on the tables of hyenas
and foxes lost to stupor
beating discordant rhythms on drums taut with slackness...

she is tossed
a coin of blank faces...dreamless with dreams...

she always dreams of bloated breasts
of a luscious rump
smothered between the winds of villains...

she always dreams of youthfulness
make-up and make-over...boxes of cosmetics
yet she is ageing into the clouds of gigolos
manicure and pedicure
claws for colourful talons...

she is a half-orphan
a deaf mother
and a tourist of a father...

 
Coin Toss -- Pat Purdy