Hello loves today we have our first guest post, from a reader. It’s a feature i’ve always wanted to add to the blog because I feel y’all have something unique and what better way to do that than provide my platform. Tracy is a writer and blogger Here
I’ll reach out every once in a while to those who comment on this blog to feature their thoughts, feelings and other forms of expression they think are relevant to help us enjoy this life of sin… Enjoy
MONDAY NIGHT.
by Tracy Nwokoma
she has returned
to the city where
to the city where
she first set
eyes to daylight:
eyes to daylight:
that cold Monday night
when the doctors
unraveled her curled
unraveled her curled
frame from the
insides of her mother
insides of her mother
and let her
slither onto the sheets
slither onto the sheets
like a serpent,
the very city in
which
which
she let out her
first voice of reason-
first voice of reason-
a
glass-shattering scream that shook
glass-shattering scream that shook
the very frame of
her tiny being,
her tiny being,
and confirmed her
arrival to humankind.
arrival to humankind.
she has returned
to the city
to the city
where she first
learned how to burn:
learned how to burn:
that monday night when
the heated
extract of dehydrated peanuts
extract of dehydrated peanuts
sprang from the
belly of a pitch black pan,
belly of a pitch black pan,
and coarsely
kissed the tender skin on her wrist,
kissed the tender skin on her wrist,
gripping her
flesh with the strength of
flesh with the strength of
its greasy
talons, and feeding her with pain
talons, and feeding her with pain
until her lips
hung wide open,
hung wide open,
and her
birth-wail returned in all
birth-wail returned in all
it’s glory.
she has returned
to the city where
to the city where
she learned to
survive:
survive:
that Monday night when she spread
the yellow butter
over her bread,
over her bread,
hiding oceans
behind the rim of her eyes,
behind the rim of her eyes,
remembering with
each stroke of the knife
each stroke of the knife
how the insides
of her thighs hurt
of her thighs hurt
from rendering
servitude to loins of another.
servitude to loins of another.
she has returned
in the city
in the city
where she learned
how to heal:
how to heal:
that Sunday morning when she
rid her scalp of
every strand of hair it held,
every strand of hair it held,
as the blood
trickled slowly from the sides
trickled slowly from the sides
of her mouth;
a failed
self-sacrifice to
self-sacrifice to
her altar of
pain:
pain:
a cleansing from
the fear of self.
the fear of self.
now she comes
just as a tourist,
just as a tourist,
shopping for
memories
memories
and collecting
artifacts of her past
artifacts of her past
and turning them
into tiny
into tiny
baskets of love
and wisdom.
and wisdom.
i hear she plans
to leave tomorrow,
to leave tomorrow,
and i hope she
takes the sunlight with her,
takes the sunlight with her,
the other side of
her internal universe
her internal universe
that has been
untouched by this city,
untouched by this city,
no, nor should
ever be touched by it.
ever be touched by it.
Author
Thank you for having me ❤️.