In Praise
Of Mary Anna Sawiri
February, & harmattan reappears—
Whitening your knuckles.
For the third time this day,
You sweep the compound.
Dawn—before your thoughts are mixed
With that of the kindergartners.
Afternoon—when you return
To make supper, in wait of a husband—
A beloved father, almost the last
To be home from work.
Nno, I say this again—let the neem’s
Leaves yellow the compound—
For once, be oblivious to those
Who are oblivious to your prayers
That keep your children alive & eating.
You, sweet country of mine,
The world is a beard, fire looming—
Where is your water?
