v. the failure
i did not talk to my grandmother
as much as i much as i should have
saw the effort as futile
the more one sided
our conversations over the phone became
in which i understood her every word of igbo,
and yet my ill-fitting hand-me-down of a colonised tongue
could not offer her the same
is one-sided empathy, just silent selfishness?
found i was more frustrated
she could not understand english
than i could only speak it
now i can't remember
the last time i spoke with her
weather it was long before i left for university
or after
all i know is that it was foolish for me
to take for granted
she would always be there
naive, even
YOU ARE READING
that corpse you planted last year in your garden, has it begun to sprout?
PoetryA poem about the loss of my grandmother, in seven parts.
