In Praise

February, & harmattan reappears—

Whitening your knuckles.

For the third time this day,

You sweep the compound.

Dawn—before your thoughts are mixed

With that of the kindergartners.

Afternoon—when you return

To make supper, in wait of a husband—

A beloved father, almost the last

To be home from work.

Nno, I say this again—let the neem’s

Leaves yellow the compound—

For once, be oblivious to those

Who are oblivious to your prayers

That keep your children alive & eating.

You, sweet country of mine,

The world is a beard, fire looming—

Where is your water?