A Black Berry

Sometimes
I regret making my name shorter
For fear you’d choke on it
Like a Black sour grape gone down the wrong way
I regret making my name smaller
So you wouldn’t get sick of it
Like the endless hubba bubba of a bubblegum
that’s lost it’s flavour

The immediate gratification for a moment’s
sweetness unwrapping unravelling
quickly like confectionary
For I lack the patience
To watch your tongue twist and turn over the peppermint
of my existence

I wish I could watch and wait
for the juice of every vowel
to pop in your mouth
The crunch of every consonant
Settling between your tongue and your teeth
I wish I could withstand the storm
of your British discomfort for long enough
to really make you work for it
But I lack the patience to weather
the sweat on your furrowed brow, to stare at your
straight eyelashes pressed together in frustration
Your uhms and aahs in constipated confusion
As your lips face the riddle and the question
Of pronunciation of anything but Smith or Johnson

Anthropology of the Self
part ii

The Coffee Shop

Nobody showed me a hand held
for anything but service
The touch, a taking
for nothing
Like spilt milk over coffee
Drips bleeding to the floor
Feeding a thirsty carpet
Like rain to dry soil
Fleeting, finger to finger
Pass me the drink
In an embrace nobody remembers
A millisecond of softness for
a lifetime of servitude

So I will speak love to you, of you
In reminder of the power of
a lover
Who will hold your hand forever
Expecting nothing but you
And your morning smell
Musk, beans and cinnamon
The gentle percolation of your soul
The beating of your heart
Moving from yours to theirs
Not fleeting, but always
I will…

Anthropology of the Self
part iii

This is the Most Honest I’ve Ever Been

Forgive my silence
But I will hold you
like the curve of an umbrella holds the rain
I will listen
to each drop, each splash of and on your envelope
filled with crying

Forgive my silence
for I am a perennial dweller
holding on to songs I’m obsessed with
melodies I cling to like grudges
For forgiveness is harder than a
compulsive spring clean in November

Forgive my emptiness
the nothing, until
my Chilly’s water bottle overflows
Litres of cloudy rage and sad water
Swimming in rivers of fears of abandonment
In what you were sure was a barren dam

Forgive my murky love
Thick, constant
And so messy, honey
but unwavering.

I Am A Complete Sentence.

I am a complete sentence
Dramatic pauses and
gasps for air included
I am a story, told but
unheard for the life of her

A beginning, like an almost flower
but a seed on the cusp of blooming
into a chilly but sunny spring
God help the soil that holds her
rooted seeds, dot dot dot, ellipsis

An uncertain middle, like a train
trapped in a tunnel of nowhere
and everywhere all at the same time

All meaning tucked underfoot
like a bag of invaluable possessions
My money, my truth, a question mark

A powerful end, an epilogue
full of uhms and ahhs of resolution
A finished flower, a homecoming train
Home cooking, both masterpiece
and mantelpiece on a frame of
life itself
Dramatic pauses, gasps for air, accented Ps and Qs, fuddled and mispronounced, a lot to get your head around, tongue around, a gasp for air

Full stop.

For Bibaa, Nicole and Sarah

To you, sir
Am I disposable
a speck of dust on your window sill
Forgettable
So I will never leave a mark
on the world’s soul
on the world’s heart

Is it that
I’m not enough
A subservient body to be conquered
And fucked up
Simply yours to own and destroy
like an old doll
like an old toy

This world is as mine as it is yours
And I have every right
to walk home alone at night
to play soaking with joy in a park
Whether in sunlight, rainfall or after dark
Don’t you know you have no right to me or my being

No right at all

Our bodies are not a battleground
Yet we still have to fight
A woman’s body, a woman’s right
to breathe, to live
whether our clothes are real baggy or skin tight
whether we’re going out or going home
whether we’re with friends or alone
whether we’ve had loads of drinks or are sober
whether we say no or invite you over

Don’t you know you have no right to us or our being
No right
            just ‘cause we’re women.

A Wednesday Fantasy

All the things you dream of as a kid
when you believe you’re allowed to
daring to plan satin futures in a rough and ugly world

The dream of being unapologetically alone, yet deeply in love
Painting colours of passion’s red and independence purple
on the canvas of your textured twenties, such fun

Sharing breakfast with your own conscience
smoking herbs after sweet sex
in a shitty New York apartment that loves you
almost as much as you love it

Walls made from wise and exposed bricks
that hold all your secrets and wildest fantasies
dented with thick yellow memories and salty tears of joy

Walls cracked from years of holding all the things you lost
of the things you loved so much
that stoneware mug with the crack on the side
or the Fender strings you swear you left just over there

The guitar you got when you were 14
that has a special place in your hands
on your lap and on your back

You don’t even tune it anymore
But with it you sing duets of hope, joy and heartbreak
in tongues only you and your guitar can understand

Creating acoustic rhythms that all your neighbours hear
and all your neighbours love
Even though you don’t know a damn thing about music
It sounds like the song of several lasting hugs

Your songs of happiness
passion
and love, independence…
freedom
is music to the world’s ears.

From Me to 2000

Thank you for coming back to me

Remember those times
When you’d unwrap your skirt
to hide me from the rain
drops so hot they could burn

After hours of play in the sunshine
Before you’d relax and unwind
Or when you taught me how to swim
on your favourite Lagos beach

You’d say the water isn’t just for fish
but for us girls too
Our hips and bellies make us buoyant
floating proudly as we’re swimming
Don’t mind what your Grandpa says,
he can stay in the kitchen

You’d often say I should read my bible
and pray everyday if I want to grow
You didn’t know

But I’d pray with one eye open
to see if my legs would grow
as big and strong as yours

The good times I miss
The moments I lost

But how can I lose something I never had?

The Comfortable Silence

It’s hard to notice
until the noise stops and you meet silence
for a few seconds
or maybe minutes

She greets you with nothing
Just the sound of your own eyelashes
beating and meeting every so often
as your eyes close and
permit you to see into your own soul
to chew on it

Just enough time for your ears to hear nothing of the outside
For your eyes to see everything on the inside
the symbiotic harmony of your lungs
the steady tick of your heart

The things you see in stillness
The things you feel in silence

The irritated rumble of a stomach that misses this morning’s breakfast
and can’t wait for lunchtime
to play host to something delicious
The sigh of relief from shoulders that you don’t even realise
have been carrying the weight of the world all day
The gentle hum of a comfortable bum

protected by a cushion
that knows it all too well

A Guessing Game

Love is a mysterious laughter
Loud, powerful but somehow invisible
It can sneak up on you like surprise sunshine in December
and envelope you in rhythmic rays
Chuckles and deep breaths
An ease and an intensity
It’s a bit scary
Because it won’t last a lifetime

Or like toothpaste in your mouth just before bed
It’s cleansing, but never forgets the food you ate
or the things you said
In happiness or anger
In fullness or hunger
Cleansing the mouth of your river
to enable an ocean of joy

But maybe

Love is an old fork
Four prongs of companionship
that stand the test of steely time
With you as you take a stab
Take a chance on something bigger than you
As big as life itself
Digging deep into a dish of self-compassion

Twirling for what feels like eternal spaghetti

Carving a space for yourself
and everything you ever wanted.

Love,
Wemmy.

The Biggest Maybe

No one ever changed the world
without a grumble from the old soil
a nasty outcry from the defenders of conflict
whose very feet stand ground and constrict
the vessels of freedom

No one ever changed the world
with flowers and sorries
But with powerful epiphanies
of a better tomorrow
when the days of sorrow
are long gone, buried in history books
along with bodies of old 
recycled into souls of new

A future generation built on solid ground
uniting any cracks by holding hands
Betraying any complicit silence with a powerful song
that honours the leaders before them
The people who rose through the mayhem

Us, today

Dismantling systems soaked in painful ideologies
without apology
Healing our planet while it rots in the midst
of a slowly, but surely, burning crisis

Us who said we never needed statues crafted with ugly foundations 
who said we should let go of roots that uphold structures of oppression
Who told the truth and maybe saved the world
created a sweet, long future for our little boys and girls
Kids who will hope, dream and play

because maybe, just maybe, we saved the day.

Do You Remember?

Thank you for coming back to me

Remember those times

When you’d unwrap your skirt to hide me from the rain

Drops so hot they could burn
After hours of play in the sunshine
Before you’d relax and unwind
Or when you taught me how to swim
on your favourite Lagos beach

You’d say the water isn’t just for fish
but for women and girls too
Our hips and bellies make us buoyant
Floating proudly when we’re swimming
Don’t mind what your Grandpa says,
he can stay in the kitchen

You’d often say I should read my bible
and pray everyday if I want to grow
You didn’t know
But I’d pray with one eye open
to see if my legs would grow as big and strong as yours

The good times I miss
The moments I lost

But how can I lose something I never had?

Maya

Some prophets say the world is gonna end tomorrow

But they’re not reading from our books of love
our books of hope, or the sweet stories we’ve heard of

They’re not listening to the rhythms of our hearts
Nor the thickness of our skin, sweetheart
Whose world will end tomorrow?

not mine
and certainly not yours
When we’ve only just opened the doors
those doors our ancestors built for us
as they were dreaming
Dreaming
of being able to sit where they want on the bus
of having seats at the table
not a seat, but many seats, all seats
Y’know, they built the table after all
Sweetheart, isn’t it wonderful

To know your world is just beginning
blooming, opening
like a never ending flower

Darling, you were born on the cusp of power
Sister, know your worth
know all the good that you deserve
Mother, thank you for having the nerve
the audacity
to change the world as they knew it back then

Some prophets say the world is gonna end tomorrow
but not mine
and certainly not yours…

Stories of Home

My journey started long before I was born
On a land with more colours than I’ve ever seen
The yellows, blues, oranges and greens
The sea, the sky, the endless trees and foot full of sand
The morning smell of eggs, gari and ogi
The feel and taste of agege bread
All day, every day back home
The flurry of deep colours of ankara
holding tight the hips of mamas back home
The yellows, blue, oranges and greens
The textures of a home that existed
long before me in my cherry Dr Martens

Fast forward to Act Two in a city of
more greys than I care to admit
More gates than space, unless you’re rich
But I saw its beauty in the community
Of the city I called home
Of the people I call home
With mum and dad working hard for a system they’re still new to
With young Black boys wearing more Nike and Adidas
And young Black girls wearing clothes to accentuate that big bum and hourglass
the body we wanted to have on the streets 
with buildings that blocked the sun
In a city that hid the yellows, blues, oranges and greens—
they weren’t for everyone
And the gentrification has only just begun
if you’re rich, then maybe you’ll see the sun
Here, I found colour in my green Dr Martens

Fast forward to Act Three, 
in a city with more yellows and greens
Ay up pal, with trees, rivers, sunshine
forests and dams
A burst of fresh air in my black Dr Martens… 

I Had a Dream

I had a dream last night

but I don’t remember it
What if I changed the world
with a battlecry
Or what if I changed the world
by accident, following the white light
into a whirlwind of souls
Souls that need saving
from the harsh heat of the morning

What if I ran for my life
from a humanoid darkness
What if I ran for my life
away from him, or away from me
What if the darkness was harmless
and I was running
from nothing and to no         one
Well, 
I don’t remember

Maybe all my teeth fell out
Or I sat naked in class
Maybe I struggled through
mystical trails and tribulations and
led a revolution
a renegade with big hair and flowers
who her people first and herself last

What if I was in hiding
like an elusive spy
Or what if I was hiding
from my mind’s eye
from an imagination with more colours
than words, with more fantasy than reality
Because in sleep, I need saving
from the harsh heat of the morning

I had a dream last night,
but I don’t remember it.

The Calm

On a warm autumn’s afternoon
When you drink the sun like lemonade
rejoicing 

Because you successfully persuade
the rain
to go away
just today
so you can have a glass of sunshine

And this sunshine is powerful
When you bake like chocolate
cake
unbelievable
this energy, sent straight from the sun
to the palms of your hands
Emblazoned with light you stand
spiritually enlightened
with a breath that you swear governs the sun
skin glowing
and you know it’s sending light
to the plants that need it
Unbelievable, this energy

Then you sit on the grass
a soft bed of abundance
a cushion
like feathers, a pillow
cushioned,
from head to toe

It’s thirsty work
So thank goodness for that glass
of warmth, of sunshine

To drink in
as you sit, patiently, gently
waiting for the storm to pass.

If Our Eyes Were Closed

If I first looked at you with my eyes closed. What would I have seen? What would I have felt?
Would I have felt the deepness of your voice? Your whiteness, your power. 
Would I have felt the social hierarchy, the ground at the bottom of this triangle?
Or would I have truly seen your vulnerability? Felt your warmth and explored your openness.

Would I have seen the lessons you've learnt, the journey you had in life that's brought you to me?
Would I have felt the love in your kind eyes or would I have missed it like I did when my eyes were open.
Now my eyes are closed and my heart is open, I'm seeing what I missed.

And what about you? Lady over there!

If you first looked at me with your eyes closed. What would you have seen? What would you have felt?
Would you have felt your fear and "intimidation"? My Blackness, my power.
From all the way down here... at the bottom of your social triangle.
Or would you have truly seen my kindness. Felt my warmth and explored my awkwardness.

Heard the stories that were well spoken, but still missed with your eyes wide open.
Would you understand what's brought me to you? Because you struggled when your eyes were open.
Now, listen with them closed and see with your heart open.
You see? 

Are you understanding what you've missed?