on this 10th anniversary
of your grandmothers’ deaths
pack a suitcase, buy a one-way ticket
to the motherland
to the first place you called home
leave the airport, pass the city, drive into the dusk
open the door to the bungalow, breathe in the dust
sit on the narrow bed, tenderly lay out your dresses
nestle the green & blue silk
wonder what her favorite color was
slip on the gomesi, walk to jjaja’s grave first
webale nyo, jjaja, thank you so much
you tell her all about your life across the ocean
she listens in with a furrow & a smile, she always listened
you beg her to remind you what her voice sounds like, she laughs
at least you still remember what her posho tastes like
but you never attempt to recreate it
you tell her that her son still smiles, loves you quiet
you tell her that her son is nothing like her husband
she listens with a furrow & a sigh.
your throat burns with questions
overflows with things to say
so let the tears speak for you
welaba, jjaja, goodbye until next time
return to the bungalow
nestle the orange & red satin
wonder what her favorite color was
slip on the kitenge and walk to kaaka’s grave last
webale munonga, kaaka, thank you so much
you tell her all about your life across the ocean
she chimes in with a dimple & a smile, she always chimed
you beg her to remind me what her voice sounds like and she laughs
at least you still remember what her karo tastes like
but you never attempt to recreate it
you tell her that her daughter still smiles, loves you fierce
you tell her that her daughter is nothing like her husband
she listens with a dimple & a sigh
your stomach aches for answers
runs out of things to say
so let the tears speak for you
sibegye, kaaka, goodbye until next time
Wow, thanks Tramaine for recollecting grannies’ lives in your unique perspective.