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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Review Chain

Submitted: August 03, 2018

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Submitted: August 03, 2018




They said my Grandmother is a witch doctor. She smears her face with the Orak white chalk - and kiss her lips with marble black ash; So that her eyes could foresee the seasons, And her lips could call the rain.

My Grandmother smells of age, The tired scent of numerous experiences. She wears her smile across her gums, And the sun set in her guts.

They said my Grandmother fell in love when she was younger, Now she makes love in her dreams. She wriggle her body on the mat, And throws her head in the wind like a splash of flame and passion. She murmur and whispers to herself. She calls a name she knows nothing about.

My Grandmother talks to the tress in her backyard like they were her friends. She complains to them about the taste of the new palm oil, And how the soup of her daughter in-law makes her sick.

My grandmother sees the rainbow at night, She says it looks beautiful in the dark.

They said my Grandmother do not blow out her lamp before she sleeps, Because she likes to see the face of death when it comes. Mama does not remember her granddaughter at nights, Somewhere in her head lucidity has fallen into darkness.

Mama also sleeps without clothes, Because she believes she came without clothes and so she'd go without them.

My Grandmother sleeps naked on the mat that is older than life.

©John Praise Ochoche.


© Copyright 2018 john praise. All rights reserved.

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