Omodero David Oghenekaro
I think very often of what history it is that ties
A name to a life like mine.
Within my prenatal period
When I had assumed form in my mother’s womb,
Mother stroked my head by rubbing her belly gently,
Said it will be well
That night I kicked hard at the spot she rubbed
I did not know what it was that came over me
But years later, I would realize it was an ancient guilt
That rebelled against the body lied to.
On coming out, I would meet the house I’d lived in,
by which I mean my mother’s body,
A bridge split in two by the raging waters upon which it was erected
I came out of her crying, not because of the grief that stays
In the blood of an unborn child, bursting open upon birth
But I came out crying, heavy with the knowledge
Of a revelation I wasn’t supposed to see until
My eyes were washed open by the nurses.
because I sensed the shock of her surrender in my veins—
When the blood in the placenta gave up pulsing
& All that was left of the house was a survivor to mourn.
because the blood is the truest witness to every grievance
& the waters in my eyes couldn’t consent
To the look in my father’s eyes as he whispered in my
Virgin ears, torn open by grief, it will be well.
“Ogadinma” is an Igbo term meaning it will be well.
Omodero David Oghenekaro: “I am a Nigerian Poet. I’ve been published on Brittle Paper, icefloe press, Poetry Column NND, Eboquills, Eremite Poetry and Lolwe. I’m on Twitter @OmoderoDavidOghenekaro.”