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Date Written: September 29, 2017

I watched lying between the cabbage roses

Looking up at the puffy white clouds

Can she see my poses from above?

I thought, feeling serene yet sad


She passed away the night before

our electricity bill went unpaid

by candles light supper we took

a delicious supper was made

when the news was delivered

to the door of the house in darkness.


As I lay looking for her in the clouds

her dead body was being washed

the ritual after burial was reincarnation

I looked on eagerly to the latter

as this matter filled me with fascination


Sitting alongside me was my Uncle

with alabaster skin and a reputation with the ladies

was sadder than most, crying uncontrollably

‘Was she my Mother?’ he screams pathetically

He had known since a child

the women that hated him and beat him regularly

without provocation, was his real mother

she was a spinster and would have never married

she loved me though and was the only kind female

I had known and respected

A ring being her family heirloom

was promised, upon her death, to be mine

This was an absurdity as I would have given

it to the rightful heir, her Son


The reincarnation ritual merely entails:

flour placed on a brass tray and left

at the prayer place for seven days

no one to enter nor disturb the event

as the doors were sealed and locked

to take stock of what I had witnessed

bird feet were imprinted on the flour

so it was concluded that her rebirth

will be a bird.


A year had passed since the ritual

a red Bishop had nested in my garden

a fatal accident from school would have occurred

if I had watched the road when crossing it

consumed by my latest altercation in school

with tears in my eyes, I crossed blindly like a fool

from nowhere appears the red Bishop

chirping and darting overhead like a deranged bat

the reckless driver I noticed and jumped on the curb

Feeling disturbed I yell: ‘Are you my Mother, bird?’

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