Poetry

A Brackish Silence / Roseline Mgbodichinma

A foggy estuary fades from teal to pale brown, with low clouds over land on the horizon

Image by Jessica J. Lee

In your poetry workshop

The teacher unmutes himself and throws a word

He says - estuary; write a poem with estuary

You google this coastal body of water,

How this tidal mouth of a river is your mother's tongue

  & prayer is a place where freshwater becomes saltwater

You try to understand the translations on your body

The burrowing on your chin is how you hold an amen to light

Knowing your supplications will remain unanswered.

Halleluya is a brackish stream of consciousness 

Or how else does a mother raise her hands to god

While offering her child an elbow

Silence is vernacular for loss

Because you asked your mother how many times 

You left her body before you became whole

And she said nothing

Instead, she unearths herself 

& points to a river as pale as your skin

You stare at the conflation of water

You wonder what parts of you were made from algae.

Roseline Mgbodichinma is a Nigerian writer passionate about documenting women's stories. Her work has appeared both online and in print and are published or forthcoming in Poet Lore, Agbowo, Isele magazine, Swwim, Native Skin, Down River Road, JFA human rights Journal, and elsewhere. You can reach her on her blog at www.mgbodichi.com where she writes about all the things she cares about.