Leaning On The Shoulders Of A Girl’s Neglect
Shitta Faruq Ademola
“I was a bird on a tree, humming sweet
ballads.
Girl, sing. Night wake.
The hunter’s gun is powder, a sleeping dose
for Animals like me.
I lost home; my sisters might have gone
to the joint of our water plays. My mother is
becoming restlessness; tears not ceasing, sweet
like salt”.
A girl’s body is not bullet proofed. It’s
a food preyed at in circles like flies gathering
around the excreta of a covetous eater of Beans.
She does not know man is nefarious. The nose is
a cheater. It does not give known the
smell of the wicked.
Just yesterday, her body is feasted hungrily.
After that she died. When she woke up,
she became a food again. The thing
in between her thighs is a spice; crayfish floating
on a rice stew.
Girl, heal.
Soon, soon. She is a thousand sores, a home
for flies. Perching. We don’t know the cure to her pains.
The only dirge we sing is in the death of light,
Chorus incessant in tears flowing like Nile, black clothes
rising, and silent voices singing Girl, heal. Soon, soon.
