Benin Woman by Odia Ofeimun

Under the smouldering sun of 

this angry afternoon 

you sum up the ancient city 

in a quaint, moonlit stare, indifference.

Rooted to the earth 

left alone to sing in bronze

your sad story

You become for me, the symbol 

of my snuffed-out love, 

(cheap mushroom for a famished night's palate) 

a totem of innocent death

The speech of your eurythma transforms 

my erstwhile derision to worship; 

And I suddenly realize 

you put a stopped on your road

to oil the rusted joints of 

bittered emotions

Emotan, I make my solemn prostration 

to your guts!--your footpath

strewn with broken pots, shattered clay

trod on by the heavy, rough-hewn feet

of your day.

And how I wish some woman now 

would bear your name anew, for my sake 

But your sky inspires awe 

with its exaggeration of mutating stars. 

your sky is red, all red; 

red, red clouds affirm your loneliness 

which today you confound me with

I dance to your song of bronze.