The Day Our Living Room Became A Market By Michael Ace
POSTED 01/07/2018 10:45
Two strange voices filled the room:
My father's; the other was from the telephone.
Until that night, I never knew father could speak
Without spitting fire.
Frequent chuckles and giggles told us
Father had been walking on another woman's body.
Mother trembled where she sat
Scared of who she had become in few minutes of rage.
Walls leaked secrets & sometimes wars are means
Of mourning our loses.
Mother fought for what was hers
But she had forgotten how Africa spelt her name.
Father built scars on her body that night
Threw her bags outside and gave her a map
Where our home was missing.
Torment followed her into the rigid darkness
Leaving father to the arms of the woman
Inside the telephone.
At dawn, father told relatives who had come to plead
How mother made him lesser than a god that
He began to see a boy in the mirror.
He told them her words that impaired his crown.
I watched mother on her knees
Then something told me that in this world
As a man, your victims will always come back
Seeking your forgiveness.
That day, our living room was a market place
& when I asked mother whether my notion was right
She rubbed my hair, kissed my forehead
& said she was more of a mother than a wife.
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