A painted toe on the unfinished tale
The tale always, weaned from the teller
Will be longer than moments sketched
By the evening
And we, held by muscles of sand, descend
Into that somewhere nowhere
Into that night with claws
Which know no laws other than exit doors
Ngwu, on this deathkiss of the reckless axe
Tell me, is History his story only his Troy
You horse in to destroy?
And didn’t the uhie ask the knavish axe
Never to nether
Or linger near the seeding poplar?
A painted toe now on the unfinished tale
Sketched on the ground where he stood, asking to be understood
In night runs & flights
Of feathers, proverbs, prowess
Behind a litany of finds, finders, & founding
And which uprooting a replanting?
Which agony too personal to be collective
Drips from the tongues of yellowing leaves
And fallen branches?
-- Obododimma Oha