Published September 15th, 2024
by Nwodo Divine
This gourd, once smooth as a river stone,
held your laughter, bright and quick,
like fireflies in twilight. We'd gather
around its worn rim, firefly lanterns in hand,
and weave tales of talking animals and moonlit journeys.
Your voice, a calabash dipper, ladling wisdom,
Remember, child, the moon mends what the sun breaks.
Now, the moon finds cracks to weep through,
tears leaking salt onto my palms.
Each jagged line, a memory fractured,
a shard of laughter lost in the wind.
Your hands, once steady as the earth,
trembled like insects caught in a storm.
The stories, like embers, dwindled to ash.
They say grief cracks like a calabash,
but the sounds, Mama, where do they go?
Do they sing in the rustling leaves,
or gurgle in the hidden streams?
I hold your cracked world in my hands,
searching for your voice in the silence,
aching for the moon to mend what the sun has broken.
But the night is vast, and the stars cold.
The fireflies have gone, and the stories lie dormant.
I cradle your fractured legacy,
and mutter on lips chapped with salt,
Remember, Mama, the moon tries, but it can't mend everything.
About the Poet
Nwodo Divine resides in Benin City, Edo State, Nigeria.
Read the poet's biography on Nwodo Divine's Artist Page.
This poem is included in Poetry World #10,
published in the Wax Poetry and Art Library.
Previously published in Nigeria Poetry Magazine:
Jollof Rice
by Mayanna Maya
Nigeria Poetry Magazine is part of the Wax Poetry and Art Network.
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- Visit the Wax Poetry and Art Library.
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