Nne’mo

He was gone and weeks passed

and he had taken and claimed her heart

we grew thin but I had her love;

it took the place of bread.

And then my mother tired of tears

and slowly strength returned to her smile,

to her words and to her eyes.

I was tiny but I remember:

some nights she sang to my soul

and her voice was cool honey on my skin,

some days she retreated into hers

and I had but darkness and quiet for company

other nights she talked me straight to sleep

stories made up to lift my spirit.

I grew wiser, yet too late discovered

that she forgot her heart was hers and hers alone-

(she still carried his name on her tongue)-,

but she gave what was left; the dregs to me

And even that was plenty.

When I was old enough to leave

to explore and to fall in love

she would tell me “jili nwayo”

“you will meet and win many wars

mana, müa igbe igbe, tupu i ga ku oto!”

I could never heal her soul

I could only curse his name

that he would dare to dim her light

But I still thank her gods and mine

because what she forgot to teach me

she gave me the strength to learn.

Nwa’m

I know this because I now have lived;

your mother is your only friend

catch the gems that drop from her mouth

carry them home with you,

cradle them, for what they’re worth

is more than you will ever know.

Remember how she watched, amused

as your blind eyes opened to truth

Remember how she prayed, annoyed

when your education made you roll obstinate eyes at her,

on her knees; convincing the gods to guide your senses,

gods whose names you now do not remember-

but you remember how she broke,

when they would not heal your olia

Your mother is a bless-ed send,

she discovered you before you knew to look.

Remember it is she who shared your pains;

almost as if you are one.

But remember though, you are!

Because remember that she ached

when you, a babe, were pulled from her womb

no longer safely inside of her;

that ache is what she feels

when you’re off to become a man.

Remember that you were born from her tears,

and the healing power in her soul;

that she poured into you.

And now, while you can dear one,

let your words uplift her,

let your thoughts sing to her

as hers did to you,

when you thrashed too much to sleep

And always, often, let your smile ease her ache

that she may call you Nwa’m

with all the blessing and pride and joy

that her spirit and soul can muster.