Songs of Anisha
“A Man, Not Knowing What to Do,”
by Pious Elemchukwu Okoro
This. Only this
Is the way rain clouds will gather
And Mama will rip off all red linen
Sink under a hip of blankets
And tell us all to hush.
One: we need rain again this year.
Talk and it’s angry
Will leave stomachs hungry.
Two: if it gets really angry
Its red whip can tear the village
And bury all desire –
Rivers, not of rain, of tears
Will flood possibility.
So this. Only this –
Sit down, bury your head in silence’s lap,
Listen to the heartbeat of your ears
Walk the tunnels of memory
Until glint is Chisiya
On whose rock grandfather sits
Caressing the village’s ears
With words no one can eat enough of –
Only this
Can enrich your new day
When the rivers you want to cross
Are croc-infested, and threaten to topple levees
And flood your caverns of possibility.
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