I am thorns and petals too alike they are one
a breed with nectars beasts and butterflies suck
I am all that was when what I wanted to
be is anything but what I have become
a porcelain with a temper, falls and shatters
into clay that couldn’t hold roots
so it was made to home a soil tender to seedlings
an ocean tired of running
but can’t get a grip on its turbulence
— am becoming
I am the fading image my mother’s eyes blur out
when she visualizes god running to her rescue
the headlamp on the temple of my father’s spirit
on nights he comes visiting.
Editor’s Note: Porcelain was previously published in Kissing Dynamite Poetry.
Emitomo Tobi Nimisire’s comma life was messed up by Strunk & White and Mary Norris. She writes from Ibadan, Nigeria. View her blog and find her on Twitter @Nimisire.
