1940.
The bones that carved my mother
have yielded an album
stones, sculptures. this is to say,
damn all prayers of permanency
1972.
I waded beneath the brims
of distances, how his body
once owned him, like reflections
he forbade to flee. now, he walks
with undefined stability, my father
1974.
my mother had walked too
my mother has poured away
outside her skin, her hair, stretch marks,
the joy in her breath, the strength
in her bones, and for the first time
1999.
I began counting drowning titles
at becoming an adult, or what
is living if it is not a journey
to expiration. draining bodies
in search of safety, & we call it ageing
2010.
my body harbours the doom of growth
not me. I hold my little laughter
fondly. in the beauty of the night, I wrap
around my man, he calls me sugar
this is to say; my chest is a holy temple,
still,
2020.
i am contented to know
that i can never in years become
an entity, than now. or how do you adore
the melody of music when your head
is buried in anamnesis of clamors?
2024.
you will pour away like my mothers belly
your name will be stuffed into candle
flames, but before your tribute comes,
i hope you leap a little, swinging
to the voice of music before the wave
claims your feet. i hope you love too,
live a little before you leave
202….
the bones that carved my mother’s
mother remains, stones, sculptures
damn! the prayers of permanency.
Amina Akinola Bamidele is a part-time poet/writer, community health professional, and graduate of Lagos State College of Health Technology. She’s currently a full-time student at Lead city University, Ibadan, an entrepreneur & a product developer student at Google. Her works are published and forthcoming in Asterlit Magazine, Brittle Paper, Efiko Magazine, IHRAF, Ice Floe, Lumiere Review, Maroko Magazine, Nigeria News Direct Poetry Column, South Florida Journal, Visual Verses, and others. Amina is a member of the Hilltop creative art Foundation, Lagos.