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

 

Photo by engin akyurt on Unsplash