Poem: A Mother’s Blessing

By Majekodunmi Oseriemen Ebhohon

PUT this sachet of anointing oil inside your left sock.
I am tying this red thread around your wrist,
so the iron in the air
will see it and pass you by.

Please, when the shooting starts,
do not try to be a man.
Lie down flat in the mud.
Let the dirt cover you ‘till the noise stops.

Do not try to be a man.

The president will not come to your burial,
and the governor will not buy a single crate of soft drinks for your wake.

I have put four cabin in your pocket.
Chew them slowly when the hunger comes.

I am holding the door post of this house with my two hands,
refusing to let my heart stop beating
until your boots touch this veranda again.