The gold chain sitting
On her outstretched palm
Is a good place to start.
Her father—your grandfather—kept
It in a secret drawer for a day
Like this—a day
You would have a piece of him
Around your neck.
Your grandfather, in your mother’s words,
Refused to let his daughter
Feed her present with the future.
And on the night that you were born,
He drove all the way from Benin to Abuja.
That night, silence became your mother.
All your life, you’ve seen this woman
Only through your father’s eye.
Here, a story you longed for is telling
Itself. Should you be grateful?
Should you think:
What does it matter that the first time
Your mother kisses you on the cheek
She is standing on her toes?