Jaja's Kids | Obagha Chiamaka

With sunken eyes plastered on tribal marked faces,
The oldest held Ola who held his twin,
Today's return from school tasted bitter,
In deafening silence, they trodded back home,
In gloom and black, Mama embraced her offsprings,
She knew the dreaded day had come, father's day again,
Alas the query she flees from arrives as her own early August visitor,
Not at the doorstep, but intimately trapped in the innocent bodies she begot,
Filled with spite, she spits the name that burns her tongue, Jaja,
By now the story was etched on the lips of The oldest,
In the same hue, what follows is he would be back soon from his journey to afar,
She knew Ola and his twin will join her in waiting for the bus that never arrived,
The intense tone of certainty in Mama's voice convinced them like me years ago,
But the months passed, and still they waited.

Poet's note: This poem was written in response to a writing prompt. However, I find myself connecting to the struggles of a single parent. I always wonder what they tell their kids when they're innocent children confront them with questions that remind them of so much. I really like this poem. It should be my second favorite.