traced my footsteps
crusty-toed and all
back to a place
situated just left of my breast
back to the sound of my mother cackling
as I told a dirty joke in igbo
beating a rhythm across mother nature's soft-skinned backside,
slapping the words 'live, goddamit' into the souls of the fearful,
teaching presidents
…to write poetry.
(for kelechi...)
i returned into mySelf...
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