This were the words doused into the mouths
of young girls who ran
the streets clothed with nakedness
Begging for love to replace the nightmares
of past years holding back the
lullaby on their mother’s tongues,
Praying that warmth steals the fellowship
of coldness in their hearts forever
God, sometimes, strolls out of heaven
on days when they turn their heads back to
the sky, digging for the little stars that twinkle.
These girls, run slowly away from
the wombs that walked them into
the earth. Their eyes scream silently into us.
mad, but stitch themselves into the fabric
of sanity. The missteps of their mothers
are consigned to the grave
Squelched out of their memory
into concealers
& worn on their faces, like clowns.
“Do not speak ill of your mothers”
Is not for girls who are not
their mother’s daughters
Annah Atane
Annah Atane is a Nigerian writer, born and raised in the northeast. She is a lover of art and finds fulfillment in submerging herself in it. She is an avid reader, a sister and friend to many. She believes that family is the most important thing to have, far and near. She holds a BSc in Animal Science from the University of Maiduguri, Borno State. Her works have appeared in Brittle Paper, Spill Words Press, itanilè, Kalahari Review, and elsewhere.
