GOING HOME IN MEMORY'S TRANSPORT

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I'm going to home's warmth,
To the heat in her bossom's smoky hug,
To the buttery softness of her palm oil skin
And the tobacco stained teeth of her smile.
I'm going to the warm welcome served
In a ceramic plate of kolanuts and palmwine
Frothing with bee wings and bee stings
On the top of the gourd like little planes
In between sunny clouds before the rains.
I'm going to swim in the oily sweat dripping
From the rafters staked with drying fish
And eat the tasty words of stories
From the edge of ratty mats leaking
Sand to powder my buttocks washed
With pawpaw leaves and cold streams.

I'm going to home's warmth
To sit at the feet of wisdom's decaying teeth
And listen to her count her gums with
Her tongue licking puckered lips.
I'm going to the suckling babe's peace
To watch the ripples of children skipping stones
Across placid shallows in the shadow
Of mangrove trees whose stories are
Hidden in the bowlegged roots that swallow
Canoes like the throat of pounded yam.
I'm walking the same well worn roads
That history walked with my forebears
Whose names are now woven to the skin
Of the sky with the thread of stars
And the shuttle of the oil lamp's fluttering flame,
Thus whetting the stone of memory,
Releasing the dust of before for us to eat.

I'm going to home's warmth.
To the harmattan fires that beat at the sun
And rustle the winds from the top
Of the iroko tree rocking with bird nests
To the root of the tinder dry grass
That burns brown under the weight of the sun.
I'm going to the hunters calling tracker dogs,
Digging grasscutters from cunning holes
And holding snakes with forked sticks.
As a palmfruit falls to soften the soil
Like a man meeting a woman
Beneath the moon, I fall too to sleep
beneath the moon's gaze, while
The road I must take to home's welcome
Meanders away and back and my bus
Stumbles in the night to home's warmth.


sunset2724464_1280.jpg
Pixabay: T_ushar


©warpedpoetic, 2019.



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4 comments
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What a beautiful ode to 'home', with gorgeous imagery as usual, @warpedpoetic! I can just imagine the stumble of the bus, with the forehead pressed to the cool glass and the excitement of return.

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