My son
just called
and said
the militants
dropped
their guns
and crossed their arms.
The noise of the celebrations
makes the creek red
like those who fought
for a tomorrow
that died yesterday
habit or beloved
he said it once
I love you
and will take
care of you
he even signed
the piece of legal nonsense
that made me
his.
Twenty years on
we still sleep two spoon
in the middle of
the bed
holding hands,
but sometimes
I wonder,
am I his habit
or beloved?
went to my uncle
for the traditional pounded yam
he had just married
a woman
from across the seas
we came for the ceremony
to wash her legs
into the family
She could not cook
Our breakfast
But gave us two tiny slices
of bread, eggs and tea
no moonlit tales
had never heard of tortoise
We felt sorry for uncle
There was no pounded yam
nor fresh palmwine
for grandpa
the saddest thing however,
she did not allow us
to wash her legs too.
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