re POEM 29

Identity II

plantain and yam porridge,

goat pepper soup, okra or okazi

stew coaxed from mother’s kitchen

on special days;

on other days: pear pancakes

sprinkled with lemon and sugar,

peanut butter and jam on thickly cut

bread from a Beit Hanina store, or a bowl

of warm milky porridge with a swirl of honey

stirred in -

stir memories from another place,

another time; a timeless place

where the kitchen table funneled

wafts like grandmother’s tales

told under clamorous darkness as we sat

around on a straw mat in the veranda of our Omoba

summer house, always before she’d drop off; her head

bopping, swollen lips drooling, her snores

deepening, lengthening...

until her morning Milo. Like grandmother's cryptic

sleep-face, my identity is as obscure as a can of Malt.

Catherine Mark