Two Poems by Oyin Oludipe

Sunday, June 12, 2016.

The Morning After

(For Eloho)

Her feet are dry the morning after

The wrinkled sun sprouts a cloud of lone,

His roaming shut in smoke

Her fingers are heavy the morning after,

Forbid the wispy weaves, around

Her tedious neck, around

Coarse skein wounding at the navel

The morning after, thatch was crown

To the world she dug, beetled tassels

On her vision of the deep

By the quiet moments darkened

Her bid is wild the morning after,

‘Give me a wretched pebble to throw

The joyful sea ’

So her love stood still the morning after

Awaiting sweet memories to bind

On firewood slabs

Womb

(Dirge for the maiming)

Womb, be an eye by my rift,

The tune of birth, by the barb

Fingers dank to slay the knot

Grow against the fence of dawn

Womb, the twitch here sings long,

Long long as the dark that stays, beats

Strange waters of purity to cleanse

The soul-raised mound

Womb, be a spirit-mother to my fear,

Cairn to my skin, wet-scalped…

The feast is wild. Yet I shall know

Serpent-heads, red wines of demise

I shall know the naked wind

Bearing my pearl beyond home,

Beyond first touches of your watery nail…

Mother, I come, busy like the wind

Oyin Oludipe is a Nigerian academic, poet and playwright. His works have appeared on the Kalahari Review, Write Paragraphs and other art journals. He loves to ponder in the dark and read Soyinka’s books. Find him on Twitter @Sir_Muell