Wednesday, September 10, 2014

Chioma

Chioma. She had a lazy eye with overgrown lips.
Her hair cut low, even though she had seniority.
She always seemed so lost. She always seem so far.
I never understood Chioma. But now I do.
Chioma is the girl who went to fetch water but returned with an empty bucket.
The bucket was once full. But when she saw the blood falling from between her legs.
And on to the dirt road. She used it to wash it away.
She wanted to wash it away.
She took more steps. More drops of blood fell.
Her pain. She had experienced before.
Images flashed in her head. She saw dark brown forearms grabbing her waist.
She opened her eyes. She closed them back.
Images flashed in her head. She saw dark brown forearms grabbing her buttocks.
She opened her eyes. She closed them back,
She opened her eyes again. No images. Just emptiness.
Just her emptiness and her empty bucket.
She went to fetch water. But shed' been to fetch water before.
They'd been to fetch water before.
The water she needed to nourish and cleanse herself.
The water she used to cleanse herself. She felt dirty. She felt impure.
They took it from her. He took it from her.
I wondered why she always felt so lost. But now I know.
A piece of her. No all of her. All of her was so empty and so far.
Her lazy eye and overgrown lips told a story.

One that is hidden in that red African dirt and that bucket of water

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