Five pots of chicken soup and countless pans with the rice Da recieved,broken egg shells all around the now boiling tomato stew and the sad goat peeping from its stall.
All is set for this festivity again,all our eyes are red again from sitting by the hot red coal pot and fanning till our limbs gave out,all our mouths have watered and dried from the sumptuous smells we would never get to taste fully.
The smell of the market and overly-smoked fish is all we have now,replacing the stale yet refreshing air that once occupied our choked compound house.
Da's sixth wife died yesterday,but who is there to mourn whilst we have to look our best for the occasion. Her burial would have to wait until we've sent our gifts to the neighbors and dressed our best for church,only to leave after the collection bowls have been passed around.
It would have to wait till the yams start growing again and the flowers start showing colour. Until then,Da's sixth wife,my mother would remain mummified in the white cloth that once covered our dining table,and she might stay there for a while.
She might stay until all works resume and her parents ask of her whereabouts,then Da shall put her in a cold box and bury her in the center of his yam farm with the rest.
Then we will continue with our lives like nothing happened,because nothing really has.
It's just another polygamous Christmas.
-AR🌸
Merry Christmas y'allllllll
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Debris:A Collection Of Poems
PoesiaA collection of poems... A broken analogy A forgotten story A beautiful plot At last, A terrible resolution,to form stanzas worth laughing,screaming,crying,and smiling for. Highest ranking #1 under analogy #1 under poetry contests #1 under wordplay...
