When We Met

Author(s) : ABASIAMA UDOM,
poetry, issue-one


When we met,
our lips sat cracked on our faces
the oil we put on them vanished,
our skin white like parchment
like the very white walls
papa had insisted we must have.

When we met,
it must have been in December
for my head was in a woolly cap
smuggled in from overseas.
My feet were in leather shoes
but the leather was dead and gone,
lost beyond redemption
for it had suffered the pain of dust.

When we met, the contractors worked
red mud turned brown and more
now it is that time again
Titi had given birth to a son
with no father –
the pastor had huffed.
My wide lips still beg for oil
to keep them from cracking
and the road in front of our house?
It is still being constructed
life is much the same
except that my stomach is swollen
they say I am pregnant.
It must be your child.
For no other touched my body
after we met.


About the Author

Abasiama Udom is a poet and writer. She currently is studying Education at Imo State University and has interests in matters of the afterlife, human nature, politics and creativity. When not writing Abasiama is sleeping, dancing or causing trouble. She can be found on Twitter @AneuPoet