OF PLEASING, PLEASING AND PLEASING

I scrub.

Tirelessly.

Energy.

Effort.

Lots of effort.

I cook.

Carefully.

Salt, pepper and onions,

Balance is necessary.

I wash.

Machines can not do what the hands do.

Such delicate fabrics,

I handle with care.

Mother sits at the door of the house, legs stretched in front of her, right foot jigging from left to right.

I smother my laughter,

Stiffen my sides,

A grim faced beaut.

I wear shirts, 

Shapeless, ill-fitting

Skirts, the floors have never been cleaner.

I kneel,

I cry,

I'm postrate,

Sanmi says penance has been paid.

Mother sits at the door of the house, legs stretched in front of her, right foot jigging from left to right.

I fast,

I sob,

I eat less.

I do not have friends.

I am nothing like me.

Yet, I persevere.

I wish.

And wish.

And wish.

Time is a thief.

Time hates me.

People talk.

Bold ones sit at the door, legs shaking from left to right, eyes following my every move, mouths twisted in imitation of sympathy.

I am sick,

I ache.

Sanmi is fearful.

He tries to talk,

"Shut up!"

Mother covers her hair. She sits at the back of the house, and asks the women to sing a dirge.

I shudder.

Death is imminent.

My bones rattle in their casing.

The voices are louder,

The vultures circling,

Hyenas cackling,

Monkeys chittering.

I breathe,

And it is a long exhale afterwards.

P.S. Whew. I nearly didn't post anything today. 

But I couldn't.

End of story.

Haha!

Photo by Francesco Ungaro from Pexels

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