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I.
Nothing breaks a spirit like poverty.
Yet, you keep standing. Knuckles
stained in penury, tongue brushed
in famine. You tie your dying wrapper
around your weary waist, its lips tied
tight around your hips. Maami,
Moremi — a woman in a man’s war
& yet, you keep fighting.
II.
A man to love or to love a man?
For you, life chose the latter.
You were always second option.
Your eyes carried a fire.
Your belly an emptiness.
Your body made love with lack —
some days it wore a stout, lazy
man’s shape. Other days it emptied
into silence, brooding in kitchen cabinets
& yet, you keep fighting.
III.
Ask me about improper fractions.
And I’ll point to you a family of six,
the sum of two thousand naira,
carrying their weights.
Maami, mathematics held you
in the class of your thoughts —
forcing costs your punctured
purse couldn’t afford.
From other classes,
you could hear the clatter of
spoons singing to plates, the aroma
of benevolence on lavishly spent meals
& yet, you keep fighting.
