Miracle Ogechukwu Okpala
MOTHER TONGUE
My tongue is a spit-soaked code to those before me
whose blood fell like rain, soaked the shrubs
This tongue is a breastplate
my shield against the world
This tongue is what works me backward
toward the genesis of my dark, supple skin
This tongue is where I land when I fall
With broken bones and unsullied spirit
Ask and my tongue ga-aza
how it savors the stories of my ancestors
from wooden plates and turning ladles
Nnè. ọnụ. ilé.
The answers are cocked
Dane guns beneath the floorboards
In this kitchen of time
Where I cook the words they left behind
and serve hot and steaming dishes
burning through tongue tips
You should know that I am from a bloodline
Of men whose knees do not touch the ground
and women whose bosoms do not succumb
Ask and don’t run from the answers
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