Mother said the first thing they gave to you were the three tiny marks on your arm,
the left arm, & it had you squirming like a turtle in pain.

No! You remember now, the tiny marks came later.

The first thing they gave you was your name,
your grandfather’s grim face filling up the crammed room,
melancholy slicing through the air like a vengeful sword.

Grandfather, on giving you your name, called it out like it was foreign and strange,
& said, “You’ll have to wear it like a pendant around your neck anywhere you go.
It is your identity now, & forever.”

Growing up, you’d unbody this name.
It
was
no
pendant
of
yours!

You’d wish you bore other names, nicer names,
not this one that dug holes in your belly like a hungry rat,
blowing air & licking its mouth, taunting you!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Photo by Divine Effiong on Unsplash