Ovbiedo

I dip into my mother’s body. 

She reeks of a beauty carved

Into the ages.

She is an eyesore 

Of an ancestry,

As cruel as it is proud.

As disloyal as it was royal.

When your own turn on you, 

Carve the safe word into your flesh 

Scribble the password 

Beside the corpse 

Of your hushed pleas. 

. 

She’s getting ready to cook. Expert wrists fasten her rap-ah.*

She does not stand, 

She rises

Like the decadent steam rolling 

Off her pot of ambrosia. 

Hands 

They swoop.

They wane, they wax

They dollop a spoonful of pepper

on my eager lips. 

.

I won’t eat my awkra* without ogbono.*

Install a mortar and pestle, 

Let me bend like my iye nokhua* 

And pound my days away.

My mother substitutes boxed mashed potatoes for bagged pounded yam. 

Just add water. 

.

But I am so proud. 

My blood bleeds the overpowering red of 

The once fallen 

Twice cursed

Benin Empire.

Edo?
 Ovbiedo!*

Emwanta mwen!!*

.

Does that even make grammatical sense?

Do I care?

My daughter 

Adesuwa*

She’ll tell me.

I won’t understand, 

But I’ll be glad when she does.

*

rap-ah: wrapper, a wrap skirt worn by west african women  

awkra:  okra, as it’s pronounced by many west africans  

ogbono: fruit whose seeds are used as the basis for the west african dish ogbono soup 

iye nokhua: “grandmother” in the edo language of southern nigeria 

ovbiedo: “child of edo” in the edo language, a statement of pride  

emwanta mwen: “my truth” in the edo language

adesuwa: edo name meaning “surrounded by prosperity”