Banke Omayele – “Seamstress”
She says to let go
She speaks of it with so much
Authenticity that if you do not
You’re just a big black hole
But what if I am not
Ready to drown all of these memories
In a shadow of the non-existent
Bottled by an apology to self
Say it again, louder this time
That I am still with my cupped hands
Waiting to catch the sun, A child with
A painted basket ready to trap the wind
How does she see this
And how does she not see
How does she know these
And how does she not know this
That to let go would be to pull away
But this bit of what makes me
This bit of me here from the very taste
And smell to purpose is sewn in
That to let go would be to pull away
How does She not see
That even scissors cannot cut away
How does she not see
When tough blood has been stitched
By the aftermath of forever on tongue-tips
Maria, You cannot just let go
I am seamstress so I would know
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