Laying awake at 1:00am, as it does every morning
Cradles a memory, this time, of a rainy day;
Sometime in December, when your laughter awoke the sky.
Or was it the smell of Dare’s perfume, that time he tasted your skin?
Or was it the awful honesty that pierced the room when Adele sang Rolling in the Deep?
Once upon that day, you had been a child again
Your body, it remembers; it was the last time it felt something.
Seating half-perched on the Office chair in the library.
Your phones, idly by your side, they have forgotten how to ring.
Careless papers, empty biros, making rounds on your clueless table.
And your body, restless, expels its rage on the laptop screen–
Punctuation marks are for the idle mind,
And typos are a part of life.
Your body, it now knows; there is no promise in tomorrow
So even when the right words fail, the wrong ones must suffice
Because sometimes, people just want to see you try.
It merges with the tears falling from your eye
Some days are good, other days are better, but some days are made just for you to cry.
So, your body, it convulses– from the weight of memories within,
Haunted by the halo
of hands held and lips kissed;
Overwhelmed by the might of stories untold,
about chances you never took, the experiences un-lived.
Yet, your body, it picks itself up from the floor of your bathroom;
Because nights are for coconut shampoo showers and mourning the things you almost had.
This is a piece inspired by Morayo’s poem “Your Body”, in the book Like a Mule bringing Ice cream to the Sun by Sarah Ladipo Mayinka.
Thank you Sheedart for sharing the wonderful book with me. I heart you, big time.
© The Short Black Girl, 2017.