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Poetry
Emmanuella Nduonofit
The
Picture has Aged
the picture is aging
and the glory is there,
ancient
created decades before birth
a material from mother earth
that picture has aged
from the exhume
of past perfume
its peace was poor
an image damp, dry, dirty, delicate
so coarse, so hoarse
the picture has truly aged
with a taciturn texture
and withered edges
The paper goes
and still stands,
a monument for the very brief glance
and a morsel for the side of the eye
How still she reclines
handbag on the left
her stare motionless
and a neck of mature deformity
due to ill-wishing, so the story goes
“If I come back again, I will no longer be kind”
So goes the story,
The mother of my mother
I am her last
If only she knew me...
But she left and I came
Now, I can only look at her
Touch her
And not feel her,
The sixth wife and the best,
In the picture that has aged
and is ageless.
MAN WITH AMULET
A man
Of great penetration
He “comes” at each droplet,
protected well by his amulet –
An amulet that rests on his hips.
Love and desire enthunder from his lips,
Swoons a woman
To supplication.
Fire at his touch
And not prone to talk much
But
When the pungent power grips the groin,
One naturally discards the only cloth of loin.
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