Nne

Nkonye she calls me;

Possessively owning me.

Placing powdery lips on my forehead

I push our chests closer together

As I wrap my arms around a skin of tyre.

My mother of two generations ago.

Whispers prayers in a language we don't share.

Nodding in affirmation to familiar sounds

That my brain can't interpret.

Her eyes dim in concentration

An attempt to string words I know

Is futile.

Her papery brown skin with patches of black coupled with

The hint of a tattoo, peeking from her sleeve

Speaks of a history I will never know.

When I look at her, I see me in fifty years

The manifestation of love carried over from generations.

The epitome of experience is in my arms

We share more than we aware of.

Our difference of time spent here;

Foreign tongues and conflicting ideologies

With our eyes that view people differently

Hide our sameness.

Nne I call her,

My twin who came years too early.

Would soon leave me

In the wake of dust to dust.

And I shall have none of her wisdom for

My wicked tongue refused to bend and know that which she understands.

Nkem Oyaghire