• Vol. 02
  • Chapter 11

Three Poems For A Daughter Locked In A Palm Tree

(For Obaa Ama Osimesi)


~Fern and Tears~

should you die
before I lean unto
a dusty tongue,
would you whisper
to the dead-Living
that i, your father
would wear his
blood against
the couch of
the grave?

roll and wipe
away your soft iced
sheet Tears. for it is not
in dying i fear, but those traced Narrowed Breast
which echoes dripping


Three Poems For A Daughter Locked In A Palm Tree


~Filmed duct~

is it pains
that ate the
dawn weevils on
the hips of the palm?
and allowance gained
on the glimpse
of kernel?

daughter of night
basket weaving-priest
enfeeble not your thighs,
or lengthen the aroma
around the sugar lake
of your bucky tears
that drains into
mystery shorts

whether i sink
through airs and slip
through cues of soups,
whether i seep
through pores and dims
through threads of lanterns,
it's the Baked Intestine
of a fallen daughter
which rusts the teeth
of a father's cutlass.


~Torn slippers~

my daughter,
slippery leaf that
waddles the sole of
the River canoe. death
won't swallow me into
its floating stomach.
fear won't break me
into its temple,

for this tear that
hills my chin. and faults
the hinge of my chest,
is but of your Road
that is patched
under the
hunter's lip.