Tuesday, April 3, 2012

A CACKLE FOR YOUR CRIES


I.
Again
You have come,
Visitor
That never overstays.

I laugh at your cries;
An echo of the first time
You rented
My now weary womb.

Do you see tears
In my eyes?
No, the wells therein
Are drier than the dessert sand.

This time, I pour no libation,
For the gods
Are drunk from my river
Of prayer gin.

I hold a lamp in my hands,
The snake at the door
Shall be crushed
Before it strikes my heels.

I shall pair your cry with a cackle;
For the child that says
His mother shall not sleep
Must not his eyelids close.

II.
So expect not
Goats and cowries,
For my yams are dry
And the barns are empty.

I shall deny you the warmth
Of the god's swollen foot-
Is the vultures' belly
Not grave enough?

No longer shall I be
The ripe palm kernel
That lies in wait
For the squirell teeth.

The butcher shall not
Call the cow Baba
To get beef
For his teeth to chew.

In my barrenness
Shall I find fruit;
For we shall not call the river another name
Because it has no fish.

So remember my words
And tell them when you go again,
"I wait. Yes, I wait,
To marry a cackle to your cries"

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